The Risk Worth Taking
by stalling-midnight
Summary: Hermione Granger, the good girl. In her last year at Hogwarts, will she step outside the lines? Will she let enemies become friends and friends become more? Will she take the only risk worth taking? please READ & REVIEW !
1. Of Muggle Studies

Chapter one: Muggle Studies

Hermione sat at the front of the increasingly noisy class, beside her worst enemy and fellow Head. Yes, Draco Malfoy. The talking and shouting and constant noise that had been surrounding her was getting on her last nerve. The Professor was late.

Fifteen minutes late, to be exact. And she was very upset. Today they were to learn about media in the muggle world, not that Hermione didn't know how it all worked, but she was interested on the magical world's point of view on the subject. She realized it wasn't so different from the wizard's press and media as she remembered the way the Daily Prophet had slandered her best friend only 2 years prior. But all the same, they should be learning, not chatting and fooling around like they had nothing better to do, because they did have something better to do - learn !

"GIVE IT BACK!" bellowed one student, although they all sounded thoroughly amused.

"Try to chuck it right through that, over there," suggested another.

Hermione rubbed her temples and let out a sigh of frustration. She was not going to stand this for much longer. She looked around the room to try and distract herself. She just had to hold out until the Professor got here, and then things would quiet down, the class would calm and the learning would resume. Learning. Reading. Asking questions. Reading . . . books, oh her precious books. Where on _earth_ was the Professor?

Twenty minutes had now passed.

Hermione sighed as she checked the clock for the millionth time that morning. _Distraction . . . distraction . . ._ Hermione looked around the room. There were many shelves lining all of the walls except the one at the front. A large blackboard was spread across the front of the room, in front of it stood a sturdy wooden desk and a chair only fit for a Professor. One of which was missing from this classroom. The room was deep, and fairly big considering it was only a class of about twenty students. There were rows of two and columns of five. There was a walkway down the middle of the desks. Hermione, of course, sat at the front beside, again, of course, Draco Malfoy. The front of the room was on a small platform, just for the professor's desk. The ceiling was high, and held dinosaur skeletons and models of muggle animals. There were non-moving pictures all around the room, covering every inch of wall that wasn't taken up by shelving units - all of which were filled with books that were stacked precariously.

Twenty-five minutes late.

Hermione peered around the still-noisy room and eyed a couple boys who were rolling parchment, throwing it up in the air, and disintegrating it with a flick of their wands. They ceased immediately upon realizing her glare.

"Calm down, Granger," drawled Malfoy next to her. "Is it just me or has the stick that has been lodged up your ass for six years just go a little deeper?"

Hermione ignored him. Where the hell was their teacher? He was never late! Ever!

"You know what," said Hermione suddenly. "If no teacher has the intention on taking care of this class, then I will have to try, won't I?"

"Oh just sit down and stop acting like you're our _mommy_, why don't you?" snapped Malfoy.

"We are Heads! We need to set an example, not condone this," Hermione paused to gesture to the out-of-control-class surrounding her, "this type of behavior!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Do whatever you want, mudblood, I couldn't care less either way."

Hermione ignored his comment and stood. She was not nervous to address her fellow seventh years - she was not afraid of anything. As she turned and faced her peers, some stopped talking to look at her, looks of annoyance and expectance on their faces. All looked disappointed at her stance except Neville, who finally seemed to retrieve his belongings from a group of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaw boys who were snickering into their hands.

"Listen up!" Hermione said loudly, addressing the last few students who hadn't stopped talking with the first few. "Now, I am well aware that Professor Frockstoffs is not present, but that does not give anyone the right to act this way. Are you seventeen or seven?"

One look around the room told Hermione that no one was going to say anything. Malfoy smirked at her and shook his head as he leaned back in his seat.

"Just because the teacher is late, it does not mean you have to break out like a bunch of wild Hipogriffs, yelling and laughing and fooling around, playing keep away - " some looked confused, others ashamed "-setting things on fire-" the guilty parties sank in their seats "-or anything else that ridiculous. I'm sure that Professor Frockstoffs will be here soon, so don't–"

"Ah, miss, that is where you would be mistaken," said a male voice from the doorway. Hermione turned, as did the rest of the class. No one was looking at Hermione any longer. Everyone's eyes were on the man entering the classroom now. He walked over to the desk at the front and set down the books that were in his arms and his bag that was slung over his shoulder. He looked up at Hermione. "Lovely speech though. I must say I agree," said the man with a stern look at the class. He looked around the room at the students, most of which were hiding any evidence of their earlier behavior. Well, Hermione noticed, the boys were. The girls couldn't seem to stop looking at the man standing in front of the blackboard. These actions made Hermione furrow her brow in confusion.

He was about five feet and nine inches tall with disheveled, dark brown hair. He had some stubble on his face, telling the class that he hadn't shaved this morning, and hazel eyes. He had a straight nose and a warm smile. His teeth looked almost perfectly straight. Somehow he had the feel of intelligence, but his messy, loose look did not push that point to the surface. He had his wand lazily stowed away inside his robes. He had broad shoulders, easily visible by the teachers robes he was sporting. He looked like a mess, still. His robes seemed to be wrinkled and twisted in some spots. Clean, but not taken care of.

Hermione looked up at him. He was still smiling. "Er, who are you exactly?" Hermione inquired, not bold enough to use sharp tones with an adult who seemed to be so certain they were in charge, but confident enough to know she had a right to ask him.

"I am Professor M. Dolop, your new Muggle Studies teacher," said the man simply.

The class broke out in whispers and Hermione looked at him with a furrowed brow. "Where's Professor Frockstoffs? He never said anything about this. Actually, he even told us what _he_ would be teaching us today." Hermione folded her arms. Every girl in the class glared at her.

"Ah, well, Professor Frockstoffs decided to finish the remainder of this school year elsewhere . . ."

Again, the class broke out in whispers. It was, after all, only the third day back.

"So I received a call this morning and here I am, to teach all of you," Professor Dolop continued. Hermione looked at her new teacher with a bit of disappointment. Hopefully he looked like a mess because he had to rush here. Her first impression of this man was not good. How old was he anyway? He couldn't be more than twenty-six years old. Professor Froskstoffs was much older and much more experienced. Was this Professor Dolop's first job or something? Or maybe he was only replacing Frockstoffs until another teacher arrived . . . hopefully.

"Well, welcome to Hogwarts," said Hermione with a smile. She re-seated herself and looked up at him expectantly.

"Alright! Let's get started then, shall we?"

As lunch time arrived, Hermione could be found in the Great Hall with Ron and Harry. The lunch today consisted of sandwiches and fruit and an assortment of juices. Ron was, as usual, in a hurry to overeat and enjoy the pleasant stomachache that he would occur after. He had changed over the summer, his hair had grown longer and his mother had agreed to let it stay that way instead of insisting on a haircut like she usually did. He had grown taller, of course, and his facial features had seemed to even out. His bright blue eyes seemed to jump right out at you compared to his pale, freckled complection and violently red hair. His jaw was far more bold and defined and Hermione could tell that he had Harry must've been practicing Quidditch all summer long, for he looked far more built than she had remembered. Next to Ron, Harry was eating while reading a Quidditch magazine that one of his fellow teammates had given him. He was Quidditch captain and could not be happier, just as Hermione could not be happier for him. His hair was as dark and black as ever. His eyes were more beautiful and entrancing than ever before, for some reason, and Hermione noticed that he looked so much older than last year. His shoulders had broadened and his form was built, more so than Ron's but Hermione would not say that aloud. His facial features seemed far more relaxed now, like he was constantly under the charm of butterbeer. Across from both her best friends, Hermione was also reading, she had picked up a novel or two at the library on the first day back.

Suddenly Ginny came bouncing over to them and took a seat next to Hermione, across from the occupied boys who looked up. She had changed as well, her hair a few inches beyond her shoulders now and her eyes – a soft brown – fit perfectly with her slightly tanned complection. She had already gotten back into the full swing of her popularity and had been with her friends every spare moment she had. So, as she was now with her brother and Hermione and Harry, they were pleasantly surprised – especially Harry, as Hermione noticed he set down his magazine immediately upon her arrival.

"Hey guys!" she greeted cheerily. She then turned to Hermione quickly, beaming. "Oh Merlin, Hermione! Have you _seen_ him?"

"Who?" said all three friends together, Ron's voice with an edge and Harry's with a fake sense of casualness. Hermione nearly laughed at his non-chalant expression, that he was obviously faking, but kept her attention focused on Ginny.

"Oh, I don't remember his name . . . but he's a new Professor! He came to talk to McGonnagal while we were having Transfiguration this morning. Something with a 'D' . . . Da- no, Dru- ah, no!"

"Dolop?" Hermione said, looking back to her book. But the squeal that followed kept her attention far away from her story, and made Ron and Harry jump.

"Yes! That's it! Have you _seen_ him, Hermione?" Ginny said, sporting the widest smile Hermione had ever seen her have. Hermione furrowed her brow.

"Yeah, I just had him for Muggle Studies. What are you–?"

"Oh my gosh! Isn't he _gorgeous_?" Ginny squealed once more, closing her eyes and smiling.

"Ginny!" scowled Ron, looking affronted as food dripped from his mouth and onto his plate. Harry looked very uncomfortable and seemed to take a sudden interest in his magazine once again.

"What?" said Ginny to her brother. "All the boys can ogle Fleur like she's the meaning of life but no girls can admire a guy with good looks?"

Ron said nothing, he just took a vicious bite of chicken. "Ow!" he yelped. "Bith my tun!"

Ginny rolled her eyes and turned back to Hermione. "So?"

"So what?" Hermione looked questioningly at her friend.

"Don't you think he's . . . he's perfect? Merlin, did you see his gorgeous eyes! And oh-my-gosh! His messy hair and-" at this point Harry looked very insulted as he patted the back of his head "-he's so tall and handsome!"

"Ginny!" Hermione scolded, sounding like Ron. "He's a teacher!"

"Yes _he_ is," Ginny said with a dreamy look in her eyes.

"Merlin, Ginny, he's got to be 10 years older than you!" Hermione said, closing her book and looking disbelievingly at her red-headed friend.

"Well, it'd be worth it! And honestly, I'm sixteen, and if he's only 25 that's only nine years difference, which isn't that bad, there's some people's parents who are 15 years apart!"

"Ginny, come on, you should know better," Hermione reasoned hopelessly.

She shrugged. "You're so lucky you have him. I wish I'd taken Muggle Studies . . ."

"First of all, he's a Professor. Second of all, I don't see the big deal. He looked like a bit of a mess to me, actually," Hermione said. Ron looked extremely proud of Hermione as he patted her on the back and smiled at his sister in a kind of 'I told you so' way.

"Well, Hermione, that's because you are CRAZY!" Ginny said, taking hold of her friend's shoulders. "You can't say that you don't think he's good looking at all!"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't notice Professors that way," she answered truthfully. "And I wasn't really looking."

"Argh!" Ginny moaned out of frustration. "Hermione, being Head Girl has gotten to you! You can think someone's _handsome_! Nobody's going to appear and snatch your badge away if you admit it!"

"Oh, speaking of that," Harry said, clearly glad to switch to a different subject, "how's Malfoy been?"

Hermione had been very shocked to learn who the Head Boy was, and was even more disgusted to learn she had to share a common room and bathroom with him. It was only the first week back, but they had been fighting every day this week and she couldn't take much more of his cruelty and rude remarks. She sighed. "Way to bring me down, Harry. Thanks," she said as she let her head fall down onto the table.

"Yeah, way to go Harry," said Ginny. She patted Hermione on the back. Harry looked more frustrated then ever. Ron gave him a consoling look and returned to eating and listening to the conversation at the same time.

"But–" began Harry, but Ginny cut across him.

"I don't get it, every guy is so threatened by other girls talking about other guys . . . it's stupid, really. But I mean, how can we not notice him? He's like . . . I mean, he's great . . ." said Ginny. Once Harry looked darkly down to his lunch Ginny turned back to her friend who was sinking into the table. "What's he done now, Hermione?"

"He treats me like garbage," Hermione said, looking up. "He calls me a mudblood every day, too. I think it's become sort of his official greeting now, like a pet name or something . . . and he never buggers off, either. When I'm reading in the common room, he's right there, asking me why I even bothered to return for my last year . . . or how come I don't run off and try and earn some money so I can look 'half-decent once in a while', buy nice things, or help my 'impoverished' family."

"Scum," spat Harry.

"Want us to–" began Ron.

"No, no, no . . . you'll only get into a fight, and things will get out of control . . . thanks, but no."

"Then why do you bother complaining to us, if you don't want us to _do_ anything?" Ron asked, finally finishing his meal.

Hermione scowled at her clueless friend.

"Because it's probably nice to have some _understanding_ Ron," interjected Ginny. Harry nodded, not wanting to make anyone else mad or upset, while Ron mouthed the word, "oh".

Hermione looked up to Ron. "Besides, he's really not worth you getting detention, or endangering your position on the team, or getting hurt," she reasoned. She gave Ron a significant look, which he obviously noticed because his face tinged with pink spots and he looked back down to his breakfast mumbling something incoherent to Harry.

Meanwhile, at the Slytherin table, the topic of discussion was also Professor Dolop.

"Pansy SHUT UP!" shouted Blaise. "No one cares about how _good looking_ the damn teacher is!" The dark haired, tanned boy rolled his eyes and narrowed them at the pug-faced cow who would not stop blubbering about the new teacher. He slammed his fork down in annoyance.

"He's not as half as good looking as you are, Draco, of course," cooed Pansy to Malfoy. He rolled his eyes and shook her off of his arm.

"I don't think he's a big deal. He walks in with his robes worth about a knut and a half and acts like he's the king of all of everything or something . . . I think he looks like a poor old hag or something. I don't see why all these girls can't stop talking about him," said Malfoy as he took another bite of his food. He was already in bad mood because of Granger, and did not need his friends acting like idiots when he was trying to eat his lunch, too. Hermione had yelled at him for ordering a house elf to make him breakfast this morning, because he was running late for class. Given that he had made her trip over the rug in their common room first . . . but that didn't matter, she was not in charge of him. And she was getting on his one and only nerve. He did not put up with filthy mudblood trash the way she apparently assumed and he was going to do something rash if she did not just bugger off pretty soon with all of her nagging. But, and he smirked at the thought, she did get so upset when he interrupted her reading. Her nostrils would flare and she would purse her lips . . . it was quite amusing when she thought she was tough.

"Draco?" Blaise said to his friend. "So?"

"What?" he snapped.

"Do we have Quidditch practice today?"

"Idunno, leave me alone, Merlin," he replied, unnerved.

"So Draco," began Blaise with a smirk. "I saw Granger the other day with the blood traitor scum down by the lake," he raised his brows. "She seems to have filled out a little bit in this area." Blaise held his hands over his chest and snickered.

"Like I'd really give a damn," Malfoy said. He was immediately disgusted by his friend's observation.

"Seen anything worth telling about, then eh?" asked Blaise.

Pansy's head snapped in Draco's direction, waiting to hear his reply. "It's a mudblood. There's nothing worth telling about. Nothing worth even looking at."

Satisfied, Pansy turned away once again while Blaise raised his eyebrows and continued eating. Crabbe nudged Malfoy and pointed up to the front where Dumbledore had stood.

The entire hall fell silent immediately.

"Good afternoon, my students," began Dumbledore. "I assume you have noticed our change in Professors in the subject of Muggle Studies. Professor Frockstoffs has decided to leave our school, regrettably, but be assured, his replacement is more than capable of filling his shoes. Please welcome our newest addition to our Hogwart's staff, Professor Dolop."

Dolop stood, inclined his head shortly with a quick, warm smile, than sat once more. The hall erupted in applause, mostly from the females.

"Ah, I'm glad to see that our school is as welcoming and friendly as ever," continued Dumbledore. "Thank you for you attention. Now, back to your plates. I hope your lunch is all that it should be."

With that, Dumbledore sat with a smile. Blaise turned and grinned at Draco, followed by Crabbe and Goyle who were also grinning stupidly.

"Yeah, he's definitely getting old," said Blaise with a smirk.

"Yeah," agreed Malfoy. "I think he's taken on one too many stunners, if you ask me."

"Maybe your brain just kind of leaks out your ears after a certain point," Blaise commented with a shrug.

"Yeah, or maybe you'd need a brain to start out with," said Malfoy.

"So, really," said Blaise in a whisper to his blonde friend. "Tell me, Granger got a nice rack?"

Malfoy glared at his friend. "Find out for yourself, dammit, I don't care."

"Okay, okay, don't get yourself all in a dither there Draco," he said. He sat back, looking deep in thought. Malfoy looked down to his plate but pushed it away. Who could ever find that mudblood worth looking at?


	2. Of Arguments and a Smirking Ferret

Chapter two: Arguments

Hermione was sitting in the common room, sorting through her work from the week. She couldn't believe that NEWTs were only a few months away . . . she had to make sure she stayed on top of things this year for sure. It was Friday night and she had rounds with Malfoy in about 20 minutes.

"Making it in the Muggle world: Is there more to it?"

Hermione flicked through the book that Professor Dolop had handed out to the class yesterday. It was on the topic of Muggle media, but she wasn't sure how or what exactly he was going to teach the class about it. Even Hermione could admit that it could get a little confusing at times. She was still a bit skeptical, but had to admit, he was an awfully good teacher. Hermione even noticed some Slytherins enjoying the class when they weren't so concentrated on being evil gits . . . But Hermione was really enjoying Dolop's take on the subject. He always had something funny or interesting to say when an intriguing topic emerged. Most people in the class asked questions just to prolong his stories. Hermione had to admit that she found the crooning girls with their batting eyelashes and annoying giggle-fits and constant note-passing a little extreme, he was only a Professor. And Ginny couldn't stop talking about how he had helped her find a book in the library the other day.

"He went out of his way for me! All because I said I was a little confused about which book to get! I didn't even ask!" she had repeated at dinner that evening.

"He's nice. That's it. Ginny, I thought you were smarter than that," Hermione had reasoned. She, along with Harry and Ron, were beginning to get fed up with all the talk about their new Professor. They would much rather discuss Snape than Dolop nowadays.

Hermione looked at her Transfiguration essay. It was due on Monday but Professor McGonnagal wouldn't let her hand it in early. Hermione sighed as she went through the rest of her work. She decided to put her things away in her room before she had to leave to do her Head's duties.

She entered the shared bathroom through the door in her room beside her desk and washed her face with cool water. She looked at herself in the mirror. She had to admit that she was glad that she had finally matured into her looks over the summer. Her hair no longer frizzed out wildly but fell in soft curls that framed her face nicely. Her complection was very good, much better than last year, and she had sprouted a couple inches in height as well. She was now about five feet and seven inches tall, not that it compared to Harry and Ron, or Malfoy now that she thought about it. Every one of the boys in her year seemed to tower over her. She had an hourglass figure, not that she noticed, really, and a flat stomach thanks to a summer of jogging and her parents' habits of only buying healthy foods. She had long, muscular legs, once again thanks to the fact that she enjoyed to go out for a run in the mornings, and had actually developed a chest as well, not that she would ever flaunt it. In fact, she doubted that even Harry or Ron had noticed the changes in her appearance seeing as how she dressed with her shirt buttoned up to her neck and her skirt pulled down and her socks pulled up to her knees . . . well, you get the picture.

Hermione exited the bathroom and traipsed down to the common room once more, to find Malfoy lounging on the couch, twirling his wand around with an air of arrogance about him as usual. He had changed quite considerably over the summer as well, as much as she would hate to admit it, for the better (appearance-wise, anyhow). His hair was never slicked back anymore, but hung in his pale face, over his slate-grey eyes. His jaw had become far more defined and his features much more bold. He had broad shoulders and, as Hermione had realized, was at least five feet and eleven inches tall now.

Malfoy looked up at Hermione for a moment, wondering why she was standing there like she had been confunded. Since they had arrived on Monday he had been insulting her left and right, and she had retaliated exactly the way he had expected - insulting him right back, getting very worked-up and frustrated. He no longer commented on her looks . . . as he would never admit, not even out loud to himself, on his deathbed . . . she looked good, well compared to before anyhow. For a mudblood she was decent. Not even decent, more like, less-repulsive. Her hair no longer looked like an angry poodle burrowing on her head and her face no longer resembled a pixie's behind. Hell, she might have been pretty if she weren't always so mad and a damn nag, and a mudblood.

"Granger, we have rounds, in case you were too wrapped up in yourself to remember," he said, smirking as he lifted himself from the couch.

"I'm well aware of our rounds, Malfoy," Hermione said through gritted teeth.

As they began their duties, Hermione was almost relieved because it was silent for about half an hour, but it seemed that Malfoy could not go that long without being arrogant and rude to someone. They passed a group of fifth years, all boys, who should have been back in their dorms ten minutes ago.

"Now, I think a weeks worth of detentions might remind you of your curfews, no?" Malfoy drawled, writing them up detention slips and signing them with pride.

Hermione glared at Malfoy. She didn't agree with the punishment, as it was only ten minutes after all, but didn't think it would be very smart questioning his authority in front of other students . . . and she didn't want Dumbledore to hear anything about them arguing, either. She didn't want to disappoint him after he had chosen her to be Head Girl, after all.

As soon as the boys had gone, all looking very depressed, Hermione scolded Malfoy. "A weeks worth of detentions? For ten minutes after curfew? That's not fair at all."

Malfoy shrugged. "One of us has got to uphold the rules around here," he drawled.

"Malfoy you're so unfair! And want to talk about rules? I saw you taking some first years chocolate frogs yesterday, telling them they were off limits!"

"It's not my fault that I'm as smart as I am stunning."

"You're foul, that's what you are," Hermione spat.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, mudblood. You may be able to tell others what to do, but I am a Head also, and I have authority too!"

"Yes and you completely abuse it!"

"Why don't you mind your own business! No one wants to hear a dirty little mudblood's opinion anyway," hissed Malfoy rudely.

"You think you're so much better than me? Because of your bloodline? Please! You walk around like you're just the best, meanwhile, your malicious and cruel and vindictive to anyone who so much as sneezes in a way that you disprove of!" Hermione retorted, feeling hurt by his comment and frustrated by that fact that he did not seem bothered in the least about what she was saying to him.

"Well, it's not like I can help it," he said sarcastically.

"Yeah, that's right, it's a joke, it's all a joke," Hermione fumed, marching off.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, now. You can't always have your way, like with old Scar-head or dear old Weasel-Bee," Malfoy said.

Hermione stopped and turned. "Why don't you mind your own business!"

"Oh, hit a sore spot, did I? What, is something not right in the _love nest_?" he snickered.

"You know, I've met bread smarter than you," said Hermione bluntly, turning back around and continuing on her way. Why did he always have to make those type of comments? "Love nest"? She had never heard anything so absurd. He was just making stuff up now, to make her mad. It frustrated her even further that he was succeeding.

Malfoy seemed to get very upset by the comment about his intelligence. Did she constantly have to imply that she was brighter than he? That she knew everything and he new nothing? He caught up to her and pulled out his wand. Hermione backed up, shocked.

"Wanna say that again, mudblood?" he sneered.

"What are you _doing_?" Hermione said, staring at him wide-eyed in disbelief. He took a step further towards her. What was wrong with him? Why did he have to threaten her?

"You wanna be smart with me? Well, here's your chance to be smart! Give me one good reason that I shouldn't–"

"Well! Maybe I could?" said a voice from the shadows. Hermione heard footsteps fast approaching them. Malfoy quickly put his wand away; they both recognized that voice.

Professor Dolop appeared beside them seconds later. He raised his eyebrows at Malfoy. "Well now, this had better not have been what it sounded like from twenty feet away."

"What are you talking about?" said Malfoy. His distaste for Dolop was obvious, he didn't even address him as 'Professor'.

Dolop turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione thought about it a moment, if she told on Malfoy, it would get back to Dumbledore, they might get in trouble for fighting . . . they might be replaced . . . well he didn't actually do anything to her . . . he was just being a git like always . . . well, maybe if it happened again, she would say something . . . when he was just calling her names and bickering with her, she could handle it, but when he began threatening her . . . yes, she would tell only if he did it again. Well, if she felt endangered . . .

"No, no . . . we were just having an argument," she said in reply. Dolop did not look surprised in the least. Malfoy looked very taken aback, what was she doing?

"Oh, well, please not so loud then, eh?" he smiled. "Continue on with your rounds. I'll see the two of you in class then. G'night."

"Night, Professor," Hermione said.

As he disappeared once more, Hermione couldn't but help to wonder why he had been so understanding of her obvious lie.

She and Malfoy began their walk back to their dorm room sometime later, not having talked since Professor Dolop had come to Hermione's rescue earlier on. They approached the portrait, who was asleep already and snoring soundly. Hermione sighed. She hated when the old lady did this, she knew very well they were to be back at eleven o'clock, she couldn't keep her eyes open until then?

"Ahem," said Hermione loudly. The old lady did not move one bit.

"Oy! You old crow! Wake the hell up!" bellowed Malfoy loudly, knocking on the portrait. Hermione started and backed away slightly. Malfoy smirked as the old lady jumped up.

"Alright! Alright!" she said. "You know, back in my day, _no_ students were allowed out this late, Heads or no!" she continued as the portrait sung open.

"Oh shut up you old bat," Malfoy grumbled. Hermione said nothing in her defense, as she usually did, she was also getting tired of this process.

"Hmph!" said the old lady, affronted as she slammed the door closed. Hermione sighed as she started towards her room.

"Granger," growled Malfoy. She stopped, turned and raised her eyebrows at him. "You'd better not go and run to Dolop tomorrow when I'm not looking," said Malfoy.

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned, climbing the stairs. What was wrong with him? Could he not let anything be?

"Mudblood!"

His reply was Hermione's slamming bedroom door.

Before anyone was ready, September was nearing its end. Hermione's schedule had not changed much, she and Malfoy were still arguing constantly, she was still doing all of her work early, she was still handling Head's Duties, Prefect's meetings, and now she and Malfoy had to plan the first trip to Hogsmade, which was supposed to be the second weekend of October.

Harry and Ron had been slightly distant over the past two weeks, with Quidditch and trying to keep up with their work as well. Hermione found herself inwardly frustrated with them. If they didn't spend every waking moment with Quidditch, and an ounce of time thinking about their classes, maybe she wouldn't have to re-teach every other of their lessons to them. Some of their classes she wasn't even in! She had plenty more to do then to babysit her friends. She didn't even feel like she was seeing them as much as she should nowadays, though. And Ginny had become quite consumed in her social life, quite fast - something that obviously irked Harry. Every time she was seen walking by with a large group of friends, Harry would appear very annoyed and become suddenly interested in the opposite direction.

Hermione was currently in the library - she had her free period, her only free period. She was taking so many classes to prepare for her NEWTs at the end of the year she hadn't planned on doing much else. She ran her fingers through her hair as she reread the same sentence for the fifteenth time. She couldn't concentrate. She had had about 5 hours of sleep the night before, having argued with Malfoy for nearly an hour and then finishing homework and arranging new Prefects schedules for October . . . she wasn't sure if she would be able to go on like this. She may have to actually tell Malfoy to help pretty soon, even if it did mean that he would only do an acceptable job compared to her method.

She sighed as she finally got through the remainder of the chapter and wrote the summary that was required for her Ancient Runes class tomorrow. She packed up her things, but as she stood, her overly-stuffed bag knocked a stack of books onto the floor. She bent down to pick them up when she was suddenly joined by an extra pair of hands.

"Need a hand, Miss Granger?" said Professor Dolop. He had been reading and working on his lesson plans only two tables over, not that Hermione had noticed in the least. He wondered how she could be so consumed in her work, so concentrated with so much to do and so much responsibility. He supposed that she would make an excellent teacher one day.

Hermione smiled at her new favorite teacher. "Thanks, Professor."

"No problem," he answered.

"You always seem to be right there when I need help," Hermione remarked humorously.

Dolop chuckled, "Yes, eh?"

"I don't know if I thanked you for that one time, er, when you stopped Malfoy . . ." Hermione trailed off as she and the Professor stood.

"Oh, well no. But you're welcome," he replied, placing the books down.

"Well, okay, see you in class tomorrow then," Hermione said, bidding him goodbye. She quickly went off through the library doors, looking at her watch.

Dolop watched after her, appreciating that fact that she seemed to be the only girl that was a student who could have a real conversation with him without blushing and giggling or asking him what his first name was or his age . . . he smiled as he flicked his wand and the books stored themselves onto the shelves.

Hermione glanced at her watch again, it was only six thirty. Ron and Harry had asked her to go down to Hagrid's and visit with them. She found them in the Great Hall - dinner was just ending. She smiled as they approached her.

"Ready, then?" said Harry, looking happy.

"What's gotten you so cheery, then?" said Hermione.

"Oh, him, Ginny sat with us at dinner," said Ron with a grin. Hermione laughed while Harry blushed. They continued to poke fun at his obvious crush all the way down to Hagrid's. When they arrived, Harry knocked quickly, and Hermione and Ron smiled at each other, taking that as a hint to bugger off.

Hagrid's door flew open and he appeared, as tall and happy as ever, smiling down at them. "Oy! There y'all are!" he greeted, his tangle of beard revealing a broad smile.

"Hey Hagrid!" said Hermione, giving him a hug as she entered his house. They all sat down in the living area while Hagrid, as usual, set the kettle and gathered four mugs.

Harry and Ron smiled while taking a seat as well. As Hagrid plopped down onto his usual chair, he looked at the three friends that had been his young companions for nearly seven years now. They were taller, smarter, wiser and stronger now, but they were still Ron, Harry and Hermione.

"So, how's yer seventh year treaten' yah? Alrigh'?" he asked, looking at them.

Harry and Ron began to talk about the Quidditch team, and a very lengthy story about how Ron had made a miraculous save and in the same day Harry had caught the snitch the fastest he had ever done.

"Yeah, it was Ginny who threw it too," said Ron, beaming. "And she's the best chaser there is!"

Hagrid chuckled. "Yeh've come a long way, there Ron. And how about yer studies, then? Doin' alrigh'? No perfessor's causin' any trouble there, eh?"

They all laughed, thinking about Umbridge and replied, "No."

"And Hermione!" said Hagrid, turning to her. "Yeh've been quiet. How's bein' head Girl? Not a surprise that yeh got it though, is it?"

Hermione had been quiet. She hadn't been able to concentrate on much else because Ron was next to her and their legs were touching. Not to mention every time he leant over a little bit their hands would touch. She wasn't sure whether he was just really caught up in his story and didn't notice, or if he was just a better actor than she thought. But she snapped her eyes up and smiled at Hagrid at the sound of her name.

"It's going well, Hagrid, thanks," said Hermione. "Although, I could do without the Head Boy at times."

"Aye, that Malfoy can be a handful I reckon. I dunno how you handle it there 'Mione. It's a miracle yer the way yer are, innit?"

"Yeah, it's not natural for someone to be so nice to someone like that, 'Mione," agreed Ron.

"Well, I can't help it. He earned the position I suppose, what am I supposed to do? Resign?"

The four of them drank their second and third cups of tea before Hagrid jumped up and announced the time.

"Blimey! It's after nine. Yah three be'er get back up to the castle now, eh. Thanks fer the visit then, see yah'll tomorrow alrigh'," he said, bidding them off at the door.

"Good bye Hagrid! Goodnight!" said Hermione, waving.

"He was awful cheery then," said Ron as the three of them set off up the hill. Hermione smiled brightly as Ron put his arms around her and Harry's neck.

"Yeah, well, that's Hagrid," said Harry. The sun had set a while ago so they sky was nearly pitch black now - which is why they didn't see Malfoy only twenty feet away from them with Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Aw, ain't that sweet!" said Blaise, in fake surprise. "They all love each other!"

The three of them stopped walking. Ron snapped his arms back to his sides and narrowed his eyes at the four Slytherin's in front of him. Hermione sighed, was it too much to ask for one night without his interference?

"Well, someone's got to take pity on the little mudblood, or else she'd be completely alone," sneered Malfoy as his three friends snickered.

"Sod off, Malfoy," said Harry, taking a step towards him. Hermione grabbed his shoulder, though, and pulled him back.

"Harry, stop, it's definitely not worth it," she whispered.

"Yes, listen to your mommy, Potter," said Malfoy, laughing with his friends yet again.

"Shut your mouth," said Harry.

"Whoah, I better back off now, Old Scar Head's getting snappy!" Malfoy said.

"Someone's a little grumpy," said Blaise, his bright eyes shimmering with viciousness in the dark. Malfoy's malicious grin proved that he was having a lot of fun as well. "Hello there, mudblood," said Blaise to Hermione in an odd tone. She wasn't entirely sure, but she could've sworn that he had looked her up and down and sneered. She grimaced and ignored it.

"Come on," said Hermione, pulling her two friends along with her. This was the last thing she needed, and she knew that they would regret doing anything to get themselves kicked off the team. As they walked passed Malfoy though, he pointed his wand at her and she found herself flat on her face. She sighed, struggling to keep her temper under control, but got up with the help of Harry and Ron and kept on going. But before she knew it, something had knocked her to the ground again. Harry and Ron pulled her back up immediately.

The Slytherin's roared with laughter.

"You okay?" asked Ron. Hermione nodded.

"Of course. Let's go."

But Harry had already started towards Malfoy and his gang of cronies.

"Ooh, watch it, we just hurt his girlfriend guys!" said Blaise, sneering.

"Nah, he likes that little red-headed piece of ass," snarled Malfoy, looking disgusted. "Weasel-Bee's the one with the crush on the mudblood."

Hermione reached out for Ron but he already stet off towards them as well, joining Harry.

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy," said Harry, raising his wand.

"Harry stop it!" Hermione said sternly. "Just stop, let's go!"

"Hermione! Do you hear what he's saying?" said Ron, looking livid.

"Yes Ron, I do. I have ears," she sighed. Malfoy and his gang laughed. Hermione bit her lip. She hadn't meant to embarrass him. She could see his ears redden.

"You don't care then, is that it?" said Ron, looking at her. His voice was rising.

"Look, Hagrid won't want to be bothered with this–"

"The oaf?" said Malfoy. They snickered yet again. "It'll take him days to understand what's going on, much rather punish us!"

"That's it!" said Harry. But Hermione's hand grabbed his upper arm, preventing him from completing a spell.

"Hermione, let go!" he said, annoyed.

"No, Harry! It doesn't matter, let's just–"

"Oh, it doesn't matter that he's insulting our friends?"

"And my sister?" said Ron, sounding angry.

"Look! This is not the answer!"

"They all bicker like an old married couple!" said Blaise, laughing hysterically.

"Why are you protecting them!" said Ron, looking affronted.

"They're not threatening you! If you–"

"They used magic on you!" said Harry.

"Little Potter and Weasel can't come out to play because their mommy won't let them? Awe, too bad!" said Blaise.

"You don't need to protect me! I'm fully able!" said Hermione.

"Oh really?" said Harry, without meaning to. Hermione stared at him for a moment before replying.

"Ooh, you're in twubble now, Potter!"

"Yes, I am, Harry."

But as Hermione's attention was focused on Harry, Ron turned towards the laughing crowd and cast a spell, knocking Blaise to the ground, his legs out of control.

"Ron what are you doing?" said Hermione, running over to him and thrusting his arm down. She thought that Blaise would have retaliated, but Malfoy held him back and whispered something to him. They all stood and watched.

"Standing up for my friends! Why are _you_ protecting them!" he shouted.

"There's four of them! If you start it, they'll finish it and we'll all be in trouble then!"

"There's more important things than you having a perfect record, Hermione!" said Harry.

"Like acting like idiots? Now, let's go!"

"So we're idiots, then, is that it?" said Harry.

"Sounds like it," said Malfoy. The Slytherin's were all enjoying themselves.

"Argh!" said Hermione, frustrated. "Stop acting childish and come inside!"

Harry and Ron walked away, passed Hermione, quickly towards the castle, leaving Hermione standing there. She stared after them stomping away, wondering if they had just had a serious row. Malfoy smirked at her as he and his friends walked away as well, leaving Hermione alone.

But Hermione didn't have to wonder too long, for the next day at breakfast in the Great Hall, she sat alone. Harry and Ron say together, not so much as looking at her, and Ginny was no where to be seen. Hermione pushed her food around on her plate.

Why did she have to go and act like their parent? She shouldn't have told them what to do . . . but they would've regretted it if they had done anything more. They didn't have to get so angry with her. She couldn't believe that they had such a good time with Hagrid, and then Malfoy had ruined it all.

At the head table, the staff was eating their breakfast as well. Professor Dolop looked up from the morning paper to find his star pupil sitting completely alone, looking on the verge of tears. He nearly got up and went over to her, but he immediately realized that it would embarrass her. He sighed and looked over to his second smartest, but one of the far more rude students, viciously forking his food and chewing it violently as the rest of his friends talked and laughed. He wondered why Miss Granger did not admit that Mister Malfoy had threatened her when he had caught him, for she was certainly smart enough to know that a problem like that boy would not simply go away.

As Muggle Studies came up, directly before lunch, Dolop watched as Hermione entered the class, alone but first. He approached her slowly.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," he greeted cheerily.

"Oh," Hermione snapped her head up. She apparently had not noticed him standing there. "Good morning Professor." She offered a watery smile and looked down to her book.

"Are you alright, Miss Granger? Feeling ill?" he asked.

Hermione looked back up to her kind teacher. "No, just . . . tired, I suppose."

Dolop would have pursued the subject further, if more students hadn't suddenly came through the door. He still watched her through the class, watching annoyed as Mister Malfoy glared at her and whispered, what he could only assume was, insults at her. She pushed further away from him while working. She answered no questions that class, which was a first. She looked like she was actually ready to drop down right there and fall asleep. As the class ended, he watched as she was the last out of the door, walking slowly. She looked back at the Professor, but as soon as they made eye contact, hurried away.

Hermione was very tired and did not feel like doing anything. She just wanted the day to end. She had almost turned back to talk to Professor Dolop, but as soon as she thought about it, she felt embarrassed. He was a professor, all he could do was tell her to report him or complain to Dumbledore or talk it through. But, it didn't change the fact that she still wanted to talk to someone about this. Hermione sighed as she headed back to her dorm - she was not going to the Great Hall for a lonely lunch. She wondered where Ginny was.


	3. Of First and False Impressions

Chapter three - First Impressions

October had come upon Hogwarts slowly, but nonetheless, it was there. The trees were bare and the ground was covered with specks of golds, yellows, and oranges. Hagrid's hut was surrounded by leaves and the annual growth of overly-sized pumpkins. The lake looked more beautiful than ever as well, reflecting the orange sunset as the day – October the fifth – came to a close.

Hermione clambered through the portrait hole, tired and ready to fall into her bed, knowing fully well that she couldn't. It was only a Thursday night and she had lots of homework to do. Although, it was a relief to know that she was free of Head's duties tonight, which was about the only good thing she could think of. She and Harry and Ron hadn't spoken since their argument a week and a half ago. Hermione wondered if she had done anything wrong . . . but she was standing her grounds. Malfoy was just going to jinx her, something she or Madame Pomfrey could easily reverse and repair and Malfoy would have been punished. But Harry had to swoop in, same with Ron, to laugh and point and come to her rescue like her protectors. She was strong enough to take care of herself, and they should know that by now. She had saved them plenty of times.

Hermione placed her bag onto the kitchen table and walked towards the common room, sliding down onto the leather couch. She sighed gratefully, the only sounds being the crackling of the warm fire. She closed her eyes for a moment . . . feeling like she could stay there forever . . . or at least for an hour or two . . .

But it wasn't long until she heard the portrait door slam shut and she jumped off the couch. She glared at Malfoy, smirking as he strutted into the common room, tossing his back pack aside as he chomped down on an apple. He stopped and looked at Hermione innocently.

"Stop looking at me, mudblood, you'll contaminate my amazing looks," he sneered. He fell back onto the arm chair.

Hermione snorted as she sat back down. "Right."

"Damn straight," said Malfoy, tossing the apple core into the fire. "Like you don't let yourself have a peek or two when I'm not looking."

"But why would I _want_ to vomit?" said Hermione, arching an eyebrow.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Look, Malfoy, just sod off. You are pathetic, and I don't want to deal with you any more than I have to."

Hermione sat back and closed her eyes. Why, why, _why_ did he have to be Head Boy? Harry should have been, it should have been _Harry_. Hermione had never disagreed with Dumbledore before, but this was bordering on insanity, that's what it was. Malfoy should not be in charge of anything, never mind an entire school of innocent students!

She tried to clear her head. She wanted to rest. She would do her homework in a little while, when she could think clearly . . .

Hermione jumped up, covered in ice cold water. Her eyes wide, shivering, her head shot in Malfoy's direction. He was holding his wand loosely in his hand.

"Whoops, it slipped," he said, shrugging his shoulders. He laughed.

"Malfoy! You-are-un-bear-ab-le!" she said through gritted teeth, clenching her fists.

"Someone needs a little nap, or was that what you were trying to do? Ooh, my bad."

"First! You cost me my friends!" she said, advancing towards him. "Second! You try and jinx me when my back is turned!" she said, taking another step. "Third! You whisper insults and crude remarks to me while I'm trying to work in class! And then, even when I just sit here, in my own common room, you have to be an infuriating, arrogant, pompous, impertinent arse!"

Malfoy stood, put his hands behind his back and leaned towards her with a blank expression on his face. "Your point?" he drawled emotionlessly.

Hermione shoved him back down onto the chair forcefully, only succeeding because he clearly was not expecting it. She pointed her finger in his face. "You are IMPOSSIBLE!"

Malfoy stood, finally looking irked, and pushed her away. He was very strong and it did not take any effort at all to make her stumble backwards.

"Don't. Ever. Touch. Me. With. Your. Filthy. Mudblood. Hands," he said, staring down at her. Hermione did not back down though, she narrowed her eyes and glared right back into his slate grey ones. It looked almost comical, if it were viewed from a distance, a petite, skinny, girl staring venomously up at a man with his size and frame. Her hands were on her hips, shaking from anger, and cold.

"If you leave me alone!"

"Pfft, you love my attention."

"Attention? Attention!" Hermione exasperated, throwing her hands in the air. "YOU TREAT ME LIKE A DOG! LIKE SCUM!"

"You expected better?" He still did not raise his voice.

"Argh!" Hermione growled frustrated. "You ferret!"

Malfoy flinched at the name, but held back from saying anything about it and just fixated his cruel and vindictive glare on her. "Well, what other way do you expect to be treated by a male? I mean, your own 'friends' won't even look at you . . ." Malfoy smirked knowingly.

"That is all _your_ fault!"

"Tsk, tsk. One shouldn't blame others for their own problems," said Malfoy, seeming non-chalant, hiding his amusement.

"You're evil!" Hermione hissed.

"Why, thank you," he said with a smug look.

"Just - just leave me alone!" she said, walking towards the kitchen.

"What did I say about ordering me around? Maybe that's why you have no friends, because you're so bossy, and nagging all the time," he said. "Or maybe they've simply realized that dragging a girl around, who sports an angry dog on her head and a stick up her arse does not bode well for their already disgraceful reputation."

Hermione stopped, her back towards him. Why was this getting to her? Wait . . . was he right? No, no, no! This was ridiculous . . . but what else could it be . . . why no one would ever approach her to be her friend, why no boy ever looked at her with interest . . . The only reason Harry and Ron were probably around was so that she could help them with their homework . . . and Ginny was probably only nice to her because she was friends with her brother . . . she never really hung around her at all . . . they hadn't even talked in several days . . .

Hermione grabbed her bag and slammed the portrait door behind her. She flicked her wand at herself as she slung her bag over her shoulder and her clothes were dry once more. She stormed off towards the library, it was only seven o'clock, it did not close until nine. She could sit there and fume and calm down . . . isolated and alone . . . like usual . . . no one was going to come and talk to her . . . Harry and Ron hated her and Ginny didn't even seem to want to be her friend . . . she could be a loner . . . just get through her studies . . . pass with all perfect marks . . . move on and become successful . . . she didn't need any friends . . . especially if she didn't appeal to anyone through any other means than homework or pity . . .

Suddenly Hermione found herself falling to the hard, stone hallway floor. Her foot had caught an uplifted stone. Her books flew everywhere as her knees made painfully hard contact with the ground. She didn't even bother to move. Suddenly, without even realizing it was coming, Hermione let out a sob. A tear ran down her cheeks to her chin and fell onto the top of her hand. Her hair was in her face and her knees were throbbing painfully. She reached out very slowly for her books, more tears falling from her heavy eyes. Her head was pounding.

"Miss Granger? Oh, my- Are you alright?" said a voice.

Professor Dolop came rushing down the hallway as Hermione looked over her shoulder with some effort, and saw him stowing a book away into his one-shoulder-strapped bag. Hermione rushed to gather more books, feeling her face grow warm. Why was he always around when she looked like a fool?

"Er, yes," Hermione said with some effort, a quiver in her voice. But before she knew it he was on his knees grabbing her things. He looked at her as she pushed her chestnut curls from her face. He stared at her, and she did not understand why until she felt the coolness on her face from where the tears had streaked down her cheeks. She looked down quickly, bringing her sleeve to her face, but he grabbed her wrist. He handed her a handkerchief.

She laughed sourly and dabbed her face. She handed it back, her face growing ever more red, and he stowed it away in his suit pocket, and gathered more books. Hermione helped, pulling herself onto her knees. They both stood a moment later.

"There you go," he said, helping her stand. Hermione blushed even deeper. She fixed her bag.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said quickly. He looked at her, expression non-changing. "No."

He looked like he didn't know what to say for a moment, but recovered and then said, "Would you like to have a cup of tea?"

Hermione was about to decline the offer, say she had better get to the library, that she had homework, that she needed to finish it . . . but realized that she really had nothing better to do. She was not going back to her dorm room until Malfoy had time to cool off . . . she needed time away from him, well she needed him away from her. "Yes, thanks. That would be great," she said, smiling half-heartedly.

"Wonderful. This way then," said Dolop, leading the way down the hall. Hermione followed awkwardly - he was still carrying some of her books. They walked to the end of the hall, where Hermione had been heading, and turned left. They walked about five minutes down another corridor then turned right, into a hallway Hermione had never been down before. Once they were midway down that hall, they turned right again and came into a small alcove of six or more doors. It was dimly lit, Hermione noticed windows on all of the doors but could not see inside any of them.

They went through the first one to the left and came into another, larger room, with about ten doors. They were the most interesting-looking doors Hermione had ever seen. Half of them were made from stone, with large brass handles in the middle, a couple were glass, and the rest were heavy wooden doors, with silver doorknobs and large keyholes. Dolop pulled out a key from his robes, stuck it into the keyhole of one of the wooden doors and turned it. The lock clicked loudly twice and he pushed the door open.

They entered, going through a short hallway and came into a cramped room with shelves covering all five walls and a desk in the middle. The shelves and desk were both filled with parchments, books, quills, ink bottles - most empty - complicated spells, older and more recent copies of the _Daily Prophet_, and various lesson plans. Hermione wondered how many other teachers' offices were this messy. She smirked at the thought of McGonnagal's neat and tidy office being berried under stacks of parchments.

"Please, sit," said Dolop, waving his wand and conjuring up a chair. Another sharp jab of his wand cleared his desk and two steaming cups of tea appeared in place of the clutter. Hermione sat, still feeling awkward. She wished that he had not seen her upset like that, she did not want to let anyone know that she could break down like that. It had never happened to her before. She was a rock. No one was allowed to break her, especially Malfoy, and she did not want anyone to know that he was the reason behind her anguish.

"So," he said, looking at her once they had both sat down. Hermione had her backpack on her lap and she was fidgeting with the strap. She offered a weak smile.

"Yeah," said Hermione slowly, hoping that her face wasn't as red as it felt.

"Where were you off to in such a hurry, then?" he asked, picking up his mug for a small sip.

"What? Oh, the library," Hermione replied quickly.

"Oh," said Dolop, taking another sip. He did not seem uncomfortable in the least, which was helping Hermione relax slightly more.

"Yes . . ." Hermione said.

"Why so late?" Dolop asked casually.

"Oh . . . no reason, just wanted to get a good book . . ." said Hermione, but she mumbled that last few words under his gaze. "Just needed to get away from - well, I mean, just needed to go for a walk, clear my head."

"Ah," said Dolop. "I see. Mr. Malfoy giving you trouble?"

Hermione was very surprised at this comment.

"Well, er," said Hermione, unprepared.

"It's alright, don't worry," said Dolop dismissively. "You don't need to say anything if you don't want to. You didn't seem to want to last time, either, remember?"

Hermione looked at him. He was being really understanding about this.

"Oh, well, thank you."

"Unless you would like to talk?" suggested Dolop. He seemed genuinely concerned.

Hermione sighed, hoping he may be able to help. "It's just," she began. "Malfoy. He is so mean, for no reason. We fight constantly, and then even when I do absolutely nothing, just sit there, he still has a problem. I think it's just the fact that I'm there, more than anything else . . . he really likes to frustrate me and get me upset, and he doesn't stop there, either, he–"

"My apologies, Miss Granger, but I feel obligated to ask," said Dolop, looking serious, "This extends no more beyond words? Nothing physical?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh! No, nothing like that . . . I doubt he would hit me . . . he may be _Malfoy_ but I doubt he would lay a hand on someone so much smaller than him . . . And a girl, no. He just really likes to taunt me and try to get me angry," she explained. "I think he succeeds more than half of the time, though I try to ignore him . . ."

"Well, being as I have only known Mister Malfoy and yourself for just over a month, I must say that I have noticed his tendencies to bother you," said Dolop. Hermione was very surprised, and grateful, that he was not telling her to stop talking about another student that way, and saying that they should stop and try and get over their bickering.

"Yes, well, there's quite a history between him and me," said Hermione. "And Harry Potter and Ronald Weasely. There's fighting and whatnot, and constant competing, there's just . . . a lot."

"But I thought that you and Mr Potter and Mr Weasely were awfully close, I haven't seen them around much?"

Hermione sighed a sad sigh as she set down her still-hot cup of tea. "No, you haven't. Nor have I. We've had . . . a bit of a row," said Hermione. Then she explained what had happened, feeling more comfortable now that she knew that he was just going to listen. Once she finished she felt a little better, explaining to someone that she wasn't angry with them for standing up for her, just for not allowing her to look after herself and not going about things properly.

"Well, they'll come around if that is was really happened, and I have no doubts that you are being honest," said Dolop. "I had wondered what the teachers were on about that day. Hagrid was saying something about a ruckus, got Madame Pomfrey all in a dither, thinking it was something from the forest," he smiled. Hermione smiled too.

"Yes, it would've been funny if I weren't angry," admitted Hermione.

"Bet you wished you'd have laughed now, eh?" said Dolop.

Hermione chuckled and nodded, finishing her tea. "Professor," she said. "I just, I mean, thank you for listening, and whatnot, but I would, that is, I hope that this is just between you and I? I would appreciate it–"

"Yes, yes, of course," said Dolop with a smile.

"Thank you," Hermione said quickly. "I just, don't want anyone, especially Dumbledore, to know that I am having so much troubles with my responsibilities so early into the term, you know?"

"Responsibilities?" said Dolop, looking surprised. "You have done a wonderful job in class all month, and I have heard your other Professors raving about your abilities. It seems that the Prefects are all quite happy with their schedules and you have organized the meetings well, Miss Granger. The first trip to Hogsmade is next weekend, as I have been notified, and I'm sure you've done well in organizing that as well. It does not seem that you have a problem at all with your _responsibilities_, but moreover, with young Mister Malfoy," finished Dolop.

Hermione thought about it for a moment. It was true that she had not had a problem with the work load, though she was tired, that was from her arguments with Malfoy. It was mostly from stressing over her broken friendship and horrible roommate than homework or schooling. She had been doing fine with both the Prefects meetings and schedules and had done a good job on planning the trip to Hogsmade as well . . .

"I suppose," agreed Hermione. She suddenly wondered how late it was, she had been here a while. She searched for the clock on the wall, but there was none.

"Ten thirty-seven," said Dolop. Hermione stood, putting her books back into her bag hurriedly. Dolop handed her the others and she put them away also. "Time to be off?"

Hermione smiled, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Yes, my curfew is eleven."

"Well, good night. I hope you're feeling better."

"Yes, thanks. Good night," Hermione said, exiting the office and disappearing. Dolop would have offered to walk her back to her dorm, for no one could ever seem to find there way out of his office through all of the twists and turns. But he had no doubt that she would be fully able to find her way back quickly without even thinking about it.


	4. Of Pulling Through and Pushing Passed

Chapter four - Moving Along

Malfoy was bored. Very bored. He was sitting in Muggle Studies, next to Granger. She hadn't spoken to him in four days. The only thing keeping him from killing her was the enjoyment he was getting out of the fact that she hadn't spoken to Potter or Weasley either. He smirked. At first, he was angry that she had yelled at him and insulted him. Now he was just plain glad that he had caused her such misery. And he was sure that she was miserable. She went to the library early in the mornings, spent lunch in the dorm kitchen, and then after classes she came straight back to her room for the night. Once or twice she had left and returned right before curfew, but Malfoy assumed she was returning to the library - because she always seemed to be a in a better mood when she returned compared to when she left, and what else could make her so cheerful?

He was scratching his quill repeatedly on his parchment, while Dolop drawled on and on about muggle art . . . something to do with some loser who had sliced his ear off . . . then some woman, moaning Lisa or something, who was smiling and how wonderfully magical it was without actually _being_ magical . . . Malfoy rolled his eyes as a couple girls behind him sighed. Why did every person seem to like this guy?

Hermione was taking notes, while Malfoy was being his usual self, and listened intently. She was still not talking to Harry or Ron. After chatting with Professor Dolop a couple times, she realized that she wasn't the one who needed to apologize - she had just been trying to make sure that no one got hurt and no one got in trouble. They had completely over-reacted. But she was getting lonely. Ginny had been too busy with her friends to talk, so Hermione had been spending all of her time alone - or with Professor Dolop. Talking to him really helped her feel better, and helped her vent. She was able to just talk and explain things without him rolling his eyes or telling her that her problems were stupid - like Harry or Ron. Professor Dolop also never talked about Quidditch for half an hour straight, forgetting that Hermione was even there, and he had never called her a know-it-all and he had never, well . . . he was just a better friend than Harry or Ron, at least at the moment anyway.

But, she did miss them. They had their annoying quirks like any other regular person - even Hermione - but they were great friends and good-hearted people in general. Ron was funny, sweet and nice - when he wanted to be. Harry had a heart of gold, he was brave and one of the most generous and caring people Hermione had ever met. The only reason she was still sane was because she wasn't talking to Malfoy - at all. Of course he would provoke and taunt her, but Professor Dolop told her that unless she really feels threatened, not to do anything. He would just get frustrated and move on. And that was exactly what she wanted, for him to leave her alone, get out of her life, and let her be. He was the entire reason that she had no friends at the present moment, unless she counted Professor Dolop. But there was nothing wrong with being friends with your professor? That's what they were there for, to guide you, teach you and help you. And he was certainly helping her. He was a great teacher. And he was definitely guiding her through this rough patch she was in.

Hermione sighed - that scratching sound that Malfoy was making was VERY annoying. She looked up as Professor Dolop finished speaking. He smiled. The other girls in the class drooled.

"Alright then, I will want about six inches of parchment on your choice of preferred muggle art by tomorrow, please and thanks," said Dolop, putting some papers away in his desk drawer - one of which appeared to be overflowing.

"And what if we don't prefer any?" said Malfoy, his hand still lazily supporting his chin.

"Well, then, write me twelve inches of parchment on why not and which type of non-muggle art you prefer over it, Mister Malfoy," said Dolop, not looking up from his work. But just as Malfoy scowled, he looked up and added, "And please, do not speak out in my class. That will be your first and last warning."

Hermione stifled her laughter, for it would be juvenile, but it was funny to see Malfoy frustrated for once. She was curious as to why Professor Dolop was the only one who could do that, however.

"Lousy git, has to be cocky in front of all those girls, doesn't he?" Malfoy grumbled darkly under his breath, shoving his belongings into his bag. "Twelve inches on muggle art my ass, I'm not writing any stupid damn book on this dung . . ."

Hermione rolled her eyes as the bell rang and stood while slinging her bag over her shoulder. Malfoy was first out of the door, but Hermione stayed back for a moment.

"Hello Miss Granger, and how are we this morning?" he said politely.

"Good, good. Just wanted to say thanks again, for talking me through those things last night . . . you are a great Professor," she said, smiling brightly. "You are so different from the other professors here, even Hagrid, who is my friend. I find it odd, actually."

"Odd?" he said quizzically, with a half smile.

"Well, yes. But I'm quite odd myself, so I hope there's nothing wrong with it."

"I doubt there would be. I should only be so honored to be held in the same class as yourself, Miss Granger," he joked.

Hermione laughed. "Yeah, well, I have to go have lunch and get started on my homework," said Hermione.

"Rounds with young and bitter Mister Malfoy tonight, I suppose?" Dolop asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yep, I'm just ever so excited," said Hermione with a flat tone. Dolop laughed while bidding her good day. Hermione left the classroom, not even caring that she would be spending her lunch period alone for another day.

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The morning of the Hogsmade trip dawned bright and chilly. Hermione was glowing as she left her dorm room, wrapping a red and gold scarf around her neck and buttoning her black and woolen Ralph Lauren Purple Label coat that her mother had bought her for the winter. Her gloves and hat were tucked in her tote bag slung over her shoulder. She was wearing her favorite skinny jeans and a t-shirt and sweater. Her hair was tied back in a high ponytail, her curls adding a classy look to her appearance, and her favorite ear-rings. No makeup, of course, and no other jewelry. She was smiling brightly as she poured herself a quick cup of tea.

Malfoy came downstairs moments later, sporting some jeans, a black turtleneck and a brown coat. He was wearing his outer-wear as well - gloves, scarf, a hat in his hands - but they were all the silver and green of his house. He looked over at Hermione and their eyes met for just a moment before Hermione slid them back onto her hands busy with her tea and Malfoy scowled at her fake non-chalance attitude. What exactly was she playing at - coping his tactics? Granger wasn't the type of person not to care, she was the type of person to get mad over nothing and care too much if anything! But whatever, right? What did he care, after all.

"Malfoy," Hermione said, taking a quick sip of her tea. His head shot in her direction. "We need to go pretty much now, if you want to take the Head's carriage."

She spoke as if it were to a business colleague. Malfoy smirked.

"That's just what you want isn't it, a cozy carriage ride with me?" he scoffed arrogantly.

"Right, well, I'm going now, you should come if you don't want to walk," she said, shrugging. Malfoy glared at her as she opened the portrait and scuttled out. He followed hurriedly.

The carriages were lined up where they usually sat, waiting, pulled by Thestrals, of course. Though Hermione couldn't see them, she smiled at the space where it would've stood. As she climbed inside the carriage, she was only slightly surprised by Malfoy who followed almost immediately.

The ride started off smooth. Hermione pulled a book from her bag and began to read. The ride was not that long, but it was at least forty five minutes, and she was either going to read or have to talk to Malfoy. Needless to say, the latter was not as appealing as a good book.

"Big surprise, the mudblood brings a book," said Malfoy, rolling his eyes so obviously they may have fallen right out of his head.

Hermione did not respond.

The carriage windows had no glass, but there must have been a charm to keep the cold out, Hermione noticed, because she wasn't cold at all. The trees whizzed by at a steady pace as the Thestral continued to bring them towards Hogsmade. Hermione turned a page of her book, thinking about what she may buy while she was there today. Did she need some ink? Maybe some new quills? Parchment? Christmas was a while off . . . but if she saw something that would make a good gift, maybe she would get it? She turned another page.

She wondered what time they would be returning tonight . . . she had said to make it roughly seven-thirty to eight to the Prefects and the students. The Professors had agreed. She hoped that it wouldn't be too early. Professor Dolop had said that it would be good time. Was he going today? Did teachers often go? Would Ginny be there . . . maybe she could speak to her about Harry and Ron finally . . . but Dolop had said not to make a big deal out of it . . .

"Granger," said Malfoy, fifteen minutes later.

She didn't look up.

Hermione figured that she would leave early, avoid riding the carriage back with Malfoy. She would keep up her streak of annoying him . . . not talking to him . . . Professor Dolop had said it was one of the better choices after all . . .

"Granger," he repeated irritably, five minutes later.

No response.

"Granger!" he said, this time in a heated tone, though his voice did not raise.

Hermione looked up slowly, as if she had barely noticed his presence, and gave him a very rude 'what do you want?' look. "You–!" he began, but could not finish.

The carriage had hit a rough spot and was jerking around violently. Hermione's book fell from her hands as she struggled to stay seated. Malfoy flew forwards with the motion of the carriage - right onto Hermione. He struggled to push him self away and she struggled to do the same, both panicking, but the rocking and shaking of the carriage didn't help at all.

"Get off!" Hermione said, taking hold of his shoulders and gripping them tightly as she attempted to push him off. Malfoy lifted himself slightly, but a sudden jerk of the carriage sent them both onto the floor in a heap of jumbled flailing limbs. Hermione growled, frustrated, and began kicking and hitting him as much as she could, making no mark nor afflicting any pain. Malfoy finally grabbed her wrists.

"Granger!" he shouted.

"What!" she shouted back.

They were silent as their eyes met. They were no longer tangled, just looking absolutely ridiculous sitting on the floor of the carriage with their hair sticking up in all directions and their faces as pink as if they had been outside for hours in the cold winds. They were both breathing laboriously, looking as if they had just run several laps around the castle grounds. Malfoy's eyes mirrored the coldness outside and Hermione's were nearly slits as she narrowed them at Malfoy.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Malfoy interrupted her.

"Knew you couldn't resist me," he said while he stretched his arms outward, leaning back a little and looking at his finger nails. Hermione didn't doubt that he was actually checking to make sure they looked good. He looked completely unfazed.

"Excuse me?" she said flatly. "I noticed it was you who jumped on me."

"Yeah well if you're so smart you would have noticed that it wasn't by choice," Malfoy replied.

"Then what the hell are you talking about?" she demanded heatedly. That's it. She had snapped. The 'ignoring' policy was not working with him.

"I could see the way you were looking at me," he continued, finally bringing his eyes back to hers, "I can see the desire you have for me."

"You are so arrogant. Your ego is like this big," said Hermione, holding her arms out, "but your chances are like this big," she finished, holding her thumb and index finger less than an inch apart.

"Oh please, like I'd _want_ a mudblood like you," he scoffed. "I'm just making the ever obvious point that no one can resist me - not even you." He was now leaning against the foot of the seat with his legs extended in front of him and his arms by his side now that he had stopped looking at his cuticles.

"Oh really?" Hermione arched an eyebrow as she crossed her arms.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" he said, raising his eyebrows as if he were speaking to an infant and they would not understand that two and two just had to make four no matter what. Hermione sighed a sort of 'you're going to see that you're wrong in a second' type of sigh. _Should I prove him wrong, bring him down a notch? _Hermione smiled slyly.

"You're absolutely positive"- she was staring him straight in the eye-"that even if"- she got onto her hands and knees in a swift, smooth action, her voice now so low it was nearly drowned out by the carriage going over the dirt road-"we were in here all alone . . ."

Malfoy's eyes widened slightly as she changed into such a position. His head fell slightly to the side. "But we are all al–" he began, but she went on as if he hadn't spoken at all.

Advancing towards him, she went on, " . . . and I did something completely crazy"- she continued crawling towards him, over his legs and nearly straddling his waist-"like this"- she put her hands on the seat on either side of his shoulders-"you wouldn't do a thing"-their faces were now about two inches apart, his eyes wider than they had ever been before, and his body so stiff he could have been made out of stone-"because you wouldn't want someone like"-Hermione pressed herself into him-"me?"

A/N : sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than the rest of them, hope you liked it jus the same :)

I will update by the end of the week , don't worry !

p.s : please review, I'd like to know what you think, and any comments or advice is always appreciated! Thanks!


	5. Of Hogsmade and a Wonderful Book

Chapter five - Hogsmade

He had broken her at last; she had been driven mad. Why else would she be sitting on top of him?

"OUCH!"

"ARGH!"

The Thestral had come to a sudden stop, and both Hermione and Draco rubbed their foreheads as they scrambled away from each other. Hermione stood, smirking.

"My point proved."

Malfoy's face mirrored that as if he had suddenly tasted something particularity disgusting. "I think it was more of my point, actually."

Hermione turned to face him, looking smug, her eyebrows receding into her hairline. "Oh really?"

"Right. I knew you couldn't keep yourself away from me, but then again, no girl can," said Malfoy, turning away. He did a double-take. "You _are_ a _girl,_ right?"

"If not you almost tried to kiss a bloke," Hermione said, shrugging off the insult.

"What!" said Malfoy, his face scrunched. "I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot broom!"

"It's not like you were trying to sweep me," snorted Hermione defiantly.

"You know exactly what I mean, Granger," said Malfoy in his dangerous, low tone of voice. "You got right up and jumped all over me."

"I was trying to show you that anyone can be alluring and slag-ish if they really want to," said Hermione heatedly. She would not be accused of actually wanting to ever do anything with a bleach-blond ferret like Malfoy. She'd rather like Snape's foot, which is practically like saying she'd rather die.

"What the bloody hell are you on about now?" demanded Malfoy, finally regaining his composure.

"You only get girls because you think you are the greatest - in other words, arrogance - and you seduce them with stupid, easy, manipulative tactics like what I just pulled now," Hermione explained. "It's not like the girls come for your looks and stay for your personality."

"You're one to talk, guys don't come to you at all!" sneered Malfoy. "And I am the best looking guy _at_ Hogwarts, definitely the only one worth naming Head Boy."

"Best looking–?" Hermione spluttered. "You know, I'm honestly quite bewildered as to the fact that your enormous head can be supported by your neck."

"And you know what, another thing!" said Malfoy, ignoring her comment. "I could probably get you denounced as Head Girl for trying to beat the living daylights out of me." He rubbed his back.

"Oh please," she scoffed.

"You could have injured my spine!" said Malfoy.

"Come on, Malfoy, everyone knows you don't have a spine," said Hermione, opening the door to the carriage.

"Mudblood," he hissed, as he stepped out of the carriage.

"Ferret," she retorted, as she slammed the door behind her.

They went in separate directions.

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"Look, mate, she doesn't care anymore."

"Well I do, and she was pathetic."

Harry glared at his red-headed best friend. Ron sighed.

"Fine, we'll find her, whatever," he grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets as they exited the carriage. Harry grinned and shook his head as they set off down the familiar road with the crowds of Hogwarts' students.

"Good," he replied.

"And what do you mean, 'she doesn't care anymore'?" Ron asked sharply.

"Have you seen her?" Harry asked after a moment, arching an eyebrow as they opened the door to the Quidditch shop.

"So?" said Ron, and Harry was not surprised to find that he wasn't acting clueless.

"Did she _look_ as miserable as you do?" Harry asked as he picked up a snitch off of the shelf.

"No," Ron said distractedly. "Hey! I'm not _miserable_!"

Harry laughed. "Sure."

"I'm not!" Ron repeated, his ears reddening.

"Yeah, well, she definitely looked a lot happier then," said Harry, putting down the golden ball and moving down the small aisle. Ron shrugged.

"She's the one who was standing up for the bastards," said Ron darkly. "Why's she so happy then?"

"Maybe she likes them better, Ron. Maybe she's finally realized that being stupid and evil is way better then tailing it around with people like us, right?" said Harry. "We both knew this day would come, she's finally smartened up. How long did you think we could trick her into thinking we were her real friends?"

"We _are_ her real friends!" snapped Ron. Realizing his blight, he flushed.

"Exactly," said Harry, picking up a book _One hundred and One Ways to Be The Best Seeker_ and putting it back down after catching a glimpse of the price.

"All right, so what? You were angry at her too," Ron went on.

"Yeah, and I now I'm sorry," said Harry absent-mindedly. "Between us and Hermione, who d'ya think is more likely going to be wrong?"

Ron didn't reply.

They both moved around the store a while longer before something caught their attention - two familiar voices and a familiar name, or surname, rather, in the next aisle over.

"So how's Granger?" said deep Slytherin voice.

"Would you just shut the hell up about that already?" sneered another one. "You're annoying the shit out of me."

"Well, c'mon, Draco," he said, sounding amused, "I saw you two getting out of the carriage."

"So," sighed Draco Malfoy irritably. There was the sound of him placing something on the shelf. Ron and Harry could see him move down the aisle slightly and pick something else up.

Blaise Zabini laughed. "Yeah, right, like I couldn't see. How stupid do you think I am? Do you think I'm Longbottom or something?"

"See what?" said Malfoy again, sounding angry and annoyed, but also a bit defensive. Ron and Harry both new this not to be a good thing. They had never witnessed him being this way with his friends before.

"Yeah right," Blaise snickered, "Your hair looked like you had stuck your head out the window the whole ride. Hers too."

Malfoy turned slowly towards Blaise, and though Harry and Ron couldn't see his face, it was clear that he was glaring at the black-haired boy. Malfoy slowly set down the item that had been in his hands.

"What?" said Blaise, a smile in his voice.

"Shut your bloody trap before I make you," snarled Malfoy, advancing towards him. Both Harry and Ron were shocked to hear him threaten one of his best friends and closest followers. Malfoy walked away. Ron moved forward slightly, but Harry grabbed his arm as he stepped on an old, creaky floorboard. They listened another moment, and heard nothing. And just when they thought that maybe they had better go, Blaise spoke again.

"Seriously, one question though Draco," he said. Harry couldn't see his face, but he thought he sensed a bit of humor in his voice.

"What?" snapped Malfoy, not sounding so angry. Actually, not angry at all. Ron and Harry looked at each other with puzzled expressions - they sure seemed to forget about arguments and death threats quickly.

"Whad'ya think Potter and Weasley will do when they find out?" said Blaise after a moment, again, sounding as if he found it funny. Both Harry and Ron stiffened, straining to hear every word that would follow.

Malfoy sighed. "I dunno, it won't be good. They'll probably try to murder me, but then Potter would have to save me, because you know, that's his thing."

Blaise snickered. "But Draco," he paused for a moment, coughing oddly. "How was she?"

Harry heard Ron take a sharp intake of air.

"Well, a mudblood's a mudblood's a mudblood, you know?" began Malfoy, sighing. "But as far as Hogwart's girls go," he paused. "Not a bad lay."

"Maybe I'll giv'er a go, then?" said Blaise.

"She's pretty easy, just talk about that bloody book, _Hogwarts: A History_, and she'll pretty much jump you on the spot."

"Thanks for the tip," said Blaise.

And before Harry could latch onto his arm again, Ron had rounded the shelf and jumped in front of the two Slytherins, looking livid. Harry hastened to follow his best friend.

Malfoy and Blaise burst out laughing at the sight of the lucidly angry Gryffindors.

"Told you," breathed Blaise, wiping his eyes.

"Haha, yeah," said Malfoy, doubling over in laughter. They walked passed Harry and Ron, Blaise pushing passed Ron with his shoulder.

And they suddenly knew; they had known they were there.

"C'mon, let's just go and find her already," mumbled Ron.

Harry followed him out of the store, struggling to keep up with his long legs.

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Hermione pushed her way through the winds as she stepped out of _Quills n' Things_. She had already bought her parchment, ink, two new blank notebooks and she had just spent a couple galleons on a boxed set of quills that didn't need ink.

She looked around her as she furthered through the streets, passing by some fifth and sixth year Ravenclaws. Suddenly she caught a glimpse of her favorite shop, _Elixir of Enchantment_. They sold books that were all ether extremely high-quality, rare or unique, first edition or by a muggle author famous in even the magical community. They also sold expensive, but delicious candy and chocolates, and Hermione was sure that they had just released some perfumes over the summer. It was a classy place, and she rarely had enough money to enter the quaint shop, but she had saved all summer.

Stepping inside, a bell twinkled. It appeared empty. There were four long rows of shelves immediately upon entrance, and Hermione knew the cash-out desk to stand at the back in the corner behind a door that lead into the storage rooms. The high-ceilings made for super tall shelves. The left two rows were stacked with hundreds of books, and the second two were usually candy and chocolate. But the one of the furthest right looked different from when Hermione had last seen it, so she chose to wander down that aisle first.

She had been right; they had some new merchandise. There were some jewelry Hermione was sure would take her a year to save for, there was also some stationary sets and embroidered paper. But as she moved more towards the middle of the aisle, she came upon the most beautifully sweet smells she had ever encountered; the perfumes. All the different types had differently shaped bottles and bright colors. Hermione picked up a fat round bottle with a bright pink liquid inside and read the label: _Strawberries and Cream_. She also found _Apple Pie_, _Cherry Delight_, _Bewitching Blueberry_,_ Sinful Cinnamon_,_ Very Vanilla, _and_ Entrancing Ice-Cream_. Hermione found that she liked the vanilla and cinnamon the most. She checked the price. They were seven galleons each. She gnawed on her lower lip for a moment. She would only be able to get one. She put back the cinnamon and smelled the vanilla for a second time and smiled. That one was definitely better.

Suddenly she smelled something else. It was like spearmint, mixed with the smell of pine trees right after a rain. It was a musty smell. She scrunched her nose. Why would they have something like that among all these other perfumes that smelt so good? She looked down the shelf, bent down, got up on her tippy-toes and then stood again properly and shrugged. She turned to go and pay and–

"Umph!"

Hermione's eyes welled as her nose stung. She had run right into–

"Blaise?" said Hermione, looking up at the black-haired boy. He smirked.

"Hm?" he said slowly. "You smell good, Granger."

Hermione scrunched her face in disgust. She hadn't even heard the bell ring. Maybe they had been here first? Hermione made to move passed him, but his arm blocked her.

"What's the hurry?" he said.

"Move," she said, staring him straight in the eye. He smirked right back and leaned into her.

"Whatever you want," he whispered into her ear. Hermione shuddered and moved away from him quickly. As soon as she was at the end of the aisle, she recognized Malfoy's bleach blonde head over at the other end of the first aisle. She paid for the perfume, made her way to the third aisle and moved quickly down it. Just then the bell rang.

"What are Harry and Ron doing in here?" Hermione whispered to herself. She did not need another confrontation. She pressed herself firmly into the shelf as they stood there for a moment, then moved down the aisle next to her. She breathed a sigh of relief then darted towards the door and out into the windy streets once more.

She shook her head with a frown and walked with a quick pace to the next book store down the road. It was pretty crowded; Hermione recognized a lot of Hogwarts' students browsing through the many aisles. Hermione moved to the back of the store right away where she knew there to be arm chairs and tables.

But as she made her way through the piles of books, she saw a familiar face.

"Professor?" she said happily.

Dolop looked up from a large stack of books he was sorting through and smiled. "Hello Miss Granger, how's your day going?"

"Alright," replied Hermione. "Shopping or just browsing?"

"Browsing. I have most of these, and I'm not done them yet," he said. Hermione laughed. "How about you?" he asked her, gesturing towards her bags.

"Oh, yes, I've done a little shopping," she said. "I think I'm done now, though."

"And how's things with Misters Potter and Weasely?"

"Not good, I just snuck away from them, actually," Hermione said, sighing. "Don't you think I should just go and apologize?"

"No," he said immediately, approaching her. "They will come and find you, believe me."

"Alright," Hermione said after a moment.

"Oh, and how about the no arguing between you and Mister Malfoy?" he asked.

"Well," Hermione said, looking away. She suddenly felt a little ashamed about her earlier actions. "There isn't actually _no arguing_ going on any more."

He didn't say anything.

"It's just, he kept bothering me with stupid things, so I fought back. But I won the argument," said Hermione in defense.

Dolop laughed after a moment. "Well, I suppose I couldn't have expected it to go well. You two have been at it for six years."

"Yeah," Hermione said.

"Well, I think I shall be off now then," he said.

"Alright, see you on Monday," said Hermione with a smile.

As he walked away he turned back and said, "Oh, and Miss Granger?" Hermione turned. "If you're done shopping, you should read this book. You'll like it."

He took one out of his bag and handed it to her.

"Okay, thank you," she said. And he left. Hermione watched after a moment before she walked away as well.

She took the book that he had given her and sat down in the chair nearest to the fireplace. She opened it up and began to read. But she didn't get to read a long time before she was interrupted by some familiar voices.

"I knew she'd be in here," said Ron. And he and Harry approached her. Hermione nearly put down her book, but changed her mind. If they were coming to apologize, she wasn't going to make it easy on them. Her best friends of six years who hadn't spoken to her for two weeks over an argument caused by Draco Malfoy? She kept her eyes on her page.

"Hi Hermione," said Harry. They were right in front of her now.

"Hi," she said airily, reminding herself of Luna Lovegood.

"How–er, how are you?" Harry asked.

"Fine," she said, with the same tone. She still didn't look at them.

"Hermione, can you just put down the book so we can talk to you?" said Ron impatiently.

"I'm listening," she said stiffly.

"Hermione, just listen for one moment?" he said again, in the same impatient way.

"I can hear you," she said, staring at the word _confidence_ on the page.

Suddenly her book was being pushed down, but not by Ron, by Harry. He sat down beside her on the other chair.

"Hermione, please?" he implored. Hermione looked at him for a moment, then closed her book.

"Yes?" she asked with an air of polite interest.

"Look, we . . ." began Harry. "We came to find you, so we could say that we're sorry."

She didn't say anything.

"Come on Hermione, I dunno what else to say here," said Harry. Ron stood awkward beside him, his ears reddening at record speed.

She smiled. "I forgive you."

Harry leaned forward and squeezed her half to death in a hug. She pulled away, beaming, shoved her things into her bag and stood.

"Oh, and I'm sorry too," she added as the three of them walked towards the front.

"For what?" Ron said.

"Because I should've let you beat the living daylights out of Malfoy while you had the chance," she said. "He's foul and he deserved it. Blaise too."

They laughed, and Hermione couldn't but help to realized that he had been right.

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On Sunday morning, the three of them headed down to breakfast together, laughing and talking like before. They sat, Ron grabbing as much food as he could reach, Harry searching the table for Ginny, and Hermione smiling between the two.

At the head table, Dolop smiled, with a slight twitch of something unknown, at Hermione and her friends. He swallowed with a frown, wondering if he had eaten something that was not agreeing with him, because all of a sudden there was a burning in the pit of his stomach that he did not understand.

A/N: What did you think of that one? I hope you liked it. Please review, would love to know how think the story's going :).


	6. Of a Bet and High Hopes

Chapter six – The Bet

On Monday morning Hermione woke with a smile on her face; She and Ron and Harry were friends again. Even the sun seemed brighter outside her window. Her room looked a little nicer, and Crookshanks even seemed extra content this morning. The awkward argument and lucid hate between her and Malfoy even seemed farther out of her mind than ususal, not that she thought about it a lot.

But he had been right. She smiled even wider. Professor Dolop had been right the entire time. She had stood her ground, not given up, stuck by her point and had not caved, and they had come and apologized to her! Well, Harry had said he was sorry, but she could tell Ron was, too. They had even gone through the trouble of looking for her, and she had figured that out when they had gone into _Elixir of Enchantments_. Boys never usually went in that store. Hermione felt goosebumps rise on her skin as she remembered the scent of Blaise Zabini standing inches from her. Why had he been in there? With Draco Malfoy, no less? Had they been coming to bother her? But Malfoy didn't look like he knew she was there. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Hermione pushed it to the back of her mind.

Though she was tired, though she had to finally face Malfoy again this morning, though she had rounds with him tonight, she rolled out of bed beaming and stretched enthusiastically. She pulled down the sweater that she had slept in as it rose. She tied her hair back and trotted into the bathroom; Hermione turned beat red.

Her jaw unhinged, only a bit.

"Oh, er–Malfoy," she spluttered. He was standing in the bathroom, half-naked (the lower half was covered, thank Merlin), brushing his teeth. "Didn't . . . know you were in here." She mumbled the last few words as she stared slightly at his chest.

Malfoy smirked as Hermione looked up at him. "Like what you see?" he said smugly, raising his eyebrows. Hermione shifted uncomfortably where she stood, not looking at him. This wasn't what she had planned as their first face-to-face after the Hogsmade incident. She never ever had wanted to see his bare chest - his bare _anything_ for that matter - as long as she was to live. But, and though this betrayed everything, _everything_, in her mind (except for the little voice that belonged to Ginny), her eyes flickered down to his stomach and she couldn't help but to notice that he was quite a built boy. Very muscular. She tried as hard as she could to keep her eyes on his.

"I can – er, leave," she said, turning and placing her hand on the doorknob. He walked towards her with a swagger.

"What's the hurry?" he said smugly. Hermione screwed up her face in thought, then smirked. So he thought he had finally beaten her, did he? He thought that he could win by just strutting around in nothing but pajama pants and making her feel utterly uncomfortable and disgusted, did he?

Hermione turned on her heel, only separated by a few inches of space now that he had moved so close, and smiled at him. "No hurry, I just need to take a shower, that's all."

Malfoy's face was blank, but only for a mere second or two, as she stared up at him with her eyebrows raised. She wanted to play.

Hermione walked over to the shower and turned it on. She pulled her sweater over her head, slowly, and tossed it on the ground, all the while not looking at Malfoy though she was certain he was gaping at her. Now she wore nothing but a tank top and plaid sleep-shorts. She felt the water with her hands. Very hot. Good.

Malfoy seemed to be stuck to the floor - probably because his jaw was weighing him down. Hermione turned to look at him, raised her eyebrows and smiled a fake smile. Though she was very uncomfortable, a tiny bit ashamed, and a little humiliated, she was winning. "Can you hand me a towel, Malfoy?"

These words apparently could not make it to him very quickly, because he did not respond for a few moments.

"Er–what?" he said, clearing his throat. Hermione sighed.

"Never mind," she said, as if he was annoying her. She walked right up to him, reached over his shoulder to the shelf behind him, and slowly slid a towel off of it. She made sure it slid over his shoulder as she walked away, smiling.

The bathroom was filling up with a considerable amount of steam at this point, and Hermione panicked slightly as to what she should do next. She was planning on him speaking by now, but all he could so was stand there and stare. "Malfoy, you may want to close your mouth before it gets stuck like that and I am forced to tell people that you swing the other way."

The air of an insult seemed to break his reverie; seemed to jump-start his brain. "You know Granger, I don't think that Weasel or Boy-Wonder would be especially happy to know that you're showering with me."

Hermione flushed so badly she thought she might fall over. Instead she rose her eyebrows. "Oh? Were you planning on joining me, Malfoy?"

"Only if you want me to."

Hermione was very shocked by his immediate retaliation, she had thought that he would have not answered that question at all. "I–" she spluttered. "You–"

"Hm?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

And very suddenly, Hermione did not want to play anymore. "You disgust me."

Malfoy leaned a bit close to her. "You're an awful liar, Granger."

And with that, he turned and left her standing there to flush once again.

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Hermione found that the day was a lot easier when she had Harry and Ron to talk to during class. They had potions first – with the Slytherins – but the class went by quickly for once(and Hermione didn't have to share one word or glance between Malfoy), and then Hermione headed off to Muggle Studies alone. As she entered the classroom, she was surprised to see Malfoy already seated. She walked right passed him to Professor Dolop's desk where he sat, writing.

"Morning, Professor," she greeted.

He looked up, and smiled. "Morning."

"Here's that book you gave me to read," she said, placing it on his desk. "It was really good, thanks."

"Yes, I thought you would have liked it," he said, shoving it in his drawer.

"I did," she said. "The ending was great."

"I thought so too," he agreed. As more students filed into the class, Hermione moved to her own desk and sat down. Malfoy looked at her oddly. She ignored him. Mutually, they moved as far away from each other as they could without moving right off the edge of the desk they were forced to share.

The class proceeded as usual, handing in homework first. Malfoy looked reluctant to hand his in, although Hermione couldn't see why, it looked nearly better than her own work. She would never say that out loud, of course. After that they took a note for about forty minutes, moving from media to television programing, music, movies, plays, anything theatrical and muggle's most ingenious technology. Malfoy looked bored and un-readable the entire time, while Hermione practically smiled through the whole lesson. When the class was nearly finished, after a question and answering period, Professor Dolop set their homework.

"I'd really like each of you and your partner, the person sitting next to you, (Hermione could have sworn he gave her a sympathetic look at this point) and choose a muggle movie about magic. Tell me their theories on our ways, how close or how far away they were from the truth with a sort-of-formal-writing-thing, I want to know who wrote the script, who directed it, who acted in it, if any of these people were wizards or witches, why you chose this movie, how and why it interested you and finally, your personal opinion on the movie," he explained, as everyone hurried to write down the main points - except Malfoy of course. He sat there in his usual offensive self-satisfied manner. Apparently he was too good to write down anything Professor Dolop said.

Hermione couldn't understand his dislike for the man, after all, he was one of the younger, nicer, and more interesting Professors they were privileged to learn from at Hogwarts, and all he could do was glare at him malevolently like Dolop had somehow stated that he hated Malfoy right back, just as much or maybe more so. Hermione, for some reason, hoped that Dolop did dislike Malfoy. But then again, she would have preferred it if no one liked him. She especially hated the fact that so many girls would talk about him in the girls' loo in-between classes and at lunch time, that they would whisper about his looks and intelligence in the library, or pass notes about him and giggle annoyingly. They fawned over him just about as much as they fawned over Professor Dolop. Hermione hated that it was like he was in some type of contest with him - and worse, he seemed to be doing quite well. Malfoy just annoyed her in general. He was rude, arrogant, selfish, big-headed, annoying, cold, heartless, frustrating and just basically, one big tirade for Hermione.

Hermione's bitter thoughts carried her right to the bell, and when it rang, she wasn't surprised to see Malfoy sneer at her before he rushed from the room like he was on fire. If only he really was on fire. Dare to dream, she thought to herself with a grin. Hermione sighed as she gathered her things. Behind her, Lavender Brown and one of the Patil twins giggled at her. Hermione caught part of what they were saying.

"Idunno . . ." Lavender said, gathering her mess of books in a frenzy. "Looks like she might've magicked it _longer_."

The other girl snickered into her hands furiously, waiting on her friend. The classroom was nearly empty.

"Why does she have to wear it like that? _You_ wear it nice," she said in-between gasps. Lavender shrugged, gazed up at Dolop for a moment, then headed towards the exit with her friend.

Hermione wasn't stupid, it didn't take a genius to realize they were talking about her clothes. She snorted. Like she was going to make her short six inches shorter, or her blouse six sizes too tight, or wear shoes that threatened her neck just to look 'cool' or impress guys she had no interest in whatsoever. Though she didn't care, she was still mad they dared to whisper about her right behind her back like that. She shoved her last book into her bag violently and stood, slamming her chair into the desk.

"Upset?"

Hermione turned around quickly; she had barely been aware of his presence. "Oh, er, no. Just stupid school-stuff."

"Ah, adolescent awkwardness, you'll miss it when its gone," he mused.

"Will I?" she asked with a bit of humor.

"No, you won't. Not even a bit," he said with a smile. "Just trying to make you feel better."

Hermione laughed, then shrugged. "I don't care _much._"

"You shouldn't," he said at once. "In five years when they're off working in their favorite retail store in Hogsmade, you'll be off being a famous healer, writer, witch; whatever."

Hermione laughed again. "Well, I don't think they'll be in retail, but they certainly care a lot more about the length of their skirts compared to the amount of homework they do."

"Well said," agreed Dolop. "So I see you and Mister Malfoy are no longer on speaking terms?"

"Kind of," said Hermione slowly. "It's more like a contest now . . . ignore, then fight, and fight dirty too, and then . . . just over again I s'pose. I guess it's a bit better, if we just move along a little further, maybe we could be on speaking terms?"

"To dream, Miss Granger," he said. Hermione smiled. "So how are the rest of your classes going?"

"Good," said Hermione. "I was worried I wouldn't be able to handle all of the homework, but–"

"You needn't worry, a girl like you, a bright future ahead, I'm sure," he said. Hermione blushed just a bit.

"Well, I'll try," she said. "How about you, Professor? Are you planning to stick to teaching your whole life?"

"Wow, you make it sound forbidding and grim," he said. "Yes, well, at least that is the plan right now, but in ten, fifteen years, who knows?"

"Very true; Who knows?" she agreed. There was suddenly a question that seemed ready to jump right out of her lips. She didn't think too much on it before she spoke, but said it carefully, and casually. "So do you have a family?" She nearly said 'wife', but decided that it sounded too specific . . . and a bit weird.

"No," he shook his head. "But I'm only twenty-four, after all."

"Oh?" said Hermione. "Only twenty-four, I mean?"

"Only twenty-four," he nodded. "I get the same reaction every time. Minevra probably would have fainted if she could have, but she looked like she wanted to tell me to tuck my shirt in the first two weeks I was here."

"What do you mean, 'if she could have'?" Hermione asked after they shared a laugh.

"Well, she doesn't seem very able to show a lot of emotion, that one. Great magic, amazing Professor, just a little bottled in, I think."

"Well, I've known her for a long time, she is a bit . . . lacking of expression at times. But when it counts, she's the one you turn to," Hermione said, defending her professor.

"Yes, I believe that; She seems a particularly strong one," he said, nodding. He leaned back onto his desk and folded his arms. "So looking forward to your year, I mean, after getting a couple months' worth of it already?"

"Well, yes," she said with some thought. "Everything except for Malfoy, I'd have to say yes."

"And The Eyelashes?" he asked.

"What?" asked Hermione at once, furrowing her brow. He laughed.

"I'm sorry, that's what I call them, because whenever they speak to me, all they do is bat their eyelashes, those girls," he explained. Hermione burst out laughing.

"The Eyelashes?" she repeated. "Clever."

"Hm, yes," he said, the traces of his smile still on his face. "So?"

"Lavender and Pavarti?" said Hermione. "They're harmless, mostly. They just laugh a lot, and they like to criticize other girls a lot, as well. We've never been on the best terms, though, but we certainly have never fought right out."

"I see," he said. "Don't pay them any mind."

"I don't," she said at once. He looked at her. "Well, I mean, I guess I do. I guess I care what everyone thinks of me . . . just others to a further extent."

"That's smart," he said. "I have a slightly different look on it. I just take it all in stride. Not all of your students will admire you, listen to you, or even learn from you, but you've got to concentrate on the positives."

"Unlike Malfoy, he's definitely a negative," said Hermione, scrunching her nose a little bit.

Dolop laughed at her expression. "Let me ask you, why do the two of you only refer to each other by your surnames?"

"Idunno, really," said Hermione. "He and Harry do it, I guess it took between the two of us as well." She shrugged. "If I don't call him Malfoy I call him ferret, so I–"

"_Ferret_?" said Dolop immediately. He laughed especially hard. His reaction made her laugh, too.

"Yes, well . . ." she said, breathless.

"Why _ferret_?" he asked.

"It's a long story," said Hermione.

"I've got time."

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Rounds that evening were not especially nice. Hermione and Malfoy hadn't shared one word since this morning. Hermione was finding it hard to not to yell at him. Everything he did, she wanted to tell him to stop, to do it better, or just to lash out on him and vent once and for all. All of their arguing, open-ended fights, remarks, basically any words the two of them exchanged just built up and built up and built up. Hermione felt like she could never quite win over him. He never shouted, never showed emotion, unless it was with that stupid smirk of his. Oh how she wanted to slap that smirk right off of his smug, pale little face . . .

She constantly felt like she was swimming and could never quite reach the end . . . never quite take a rest. Around Malfoy, that is. He kept her on her toes. It bothered her. He was the only one who could do that.

Presently they were just heading into the common room; the whole of their rounds had been done in silence. It had been tense, at least for Hermione, she had just been waiting for him to spit out some clever remark about her actions this morning, threaten her with telling Harry or Ron, or maybe trying once again on the platform that she was madly attracted to him. Which she wasn't, of course. She could tell he couldn't care less, or maybe that would just some more of his non-chalant acting? Who knows.

"You know, that stupid little game you play, you can't win," he said suddenly, and sounding sage. Hermione was taken aback by the sharp sound of his voice; she hadn't been expecting him to talk.

"Wha–game?" she said, looking at him. She was trying to play dumb. Unfortunately for Hermione Granger, that was impossible.

"Like I said before, you're an awful liar Granger," he went on. "Girls like you, are way too predictable. You do things a certain way, and the same way all the time after; predictable."

"Idunno what you're talking about Malfoy, but stop it," she said. "I liked the silence much better."

"Yes well, I could care less what you like Granger, honestly," he sneered.

"Every time you speak you lose me my friends or something else," she snapped. "I've had enough of whatever _your _playing at."

"Your friends?" said Malfoy, an air of polite interest. They walked into the common room and he slouched onto the couch. Hermione sat down as well, taking a book off of the table. "So Potter and Weasely have returned to their mudblood, have they? Well, sanity is an expectation set too high for them blokes, I suppose."

"Malfoy," said Hermione, turning on him. "You are foul, plainly heartless and entirely disgusting. Harry and Ron are ten times the men you will ever be."

"Men?" he said, smirking. "That's an awful leap."

"Harry has beaten you at everything there is," said Hermione. "And I don't see you facing half of the things Ron has faced."

"First off, Potter and his lovely streak of playing the hero has nothing to do with me, if he chooses to act an idiot, good for him. The faster he wipes himself out, the better," said Malfoy, with his cool and calm voice. It was a tone Hermione definitely hated. "And Weasely? For Merlin's sake, you're using him to defend yourself? My left foot is smarter than him, better looking, too."

"You're pathetic," spat Hermione.

"So's your 'friends'," he retorted. "I could beat them whenever, just like I will next week at the Quidditch match, you'll see."

"The Gryffindor team always wins," said Hermione simply. "They'll take you just fine. Just watch."

"The Gryffindor team is pathetic, and useless, and quite plainly just sad," said Malfoy. "The Slytherin team is fast, cunning and far more skilled."

"You only wish that was true, Malfoy," she scoffed. "I can't wait until they beat you, until Harry catches the snitch and you'll have to admit that you were wrong."

"Yeah right, Granger," he said. "I'll bet you that we _will_ win over you next Saturday."

"Fine," said Hermione haughtily.

"What?" he said, looking at her with an expression of confusion.

"You bet me that you will win," repeated Hermione. "So it's a bet."

"Granger, I was just–you know what, great. I could use a bit of entertainment," he said, sitting back. "And if by some mistake, some utter miraculous happening, or if – and Merlin forbid – Potter dies before the game trying to save a pixie from Filches fly-swatter, _you win?_"

Hermione blinked at him. Had he prepared these speeches before hand or something? He always seemed to have something to say. She recovered quickly. "And if I win . . . you have to beg for Harry's forgiveness, for being such a prat all those years, tell him he is the better man, and try to shake hands with him - because I'm sure he won't want to. And you have to act _seriously_, no making it into a joke."

Hermione smirked. She couldn't wait for this now. She never was usually excited for Quiddtich.

"And if _I_ win . . ." Malfoy mused, looking thoughtful. Hermione wasn't surprised by the fact that he looked completely unfazed and not worried about the bet at all, though it did frustrate her to no end. "You have to do something unpredictable."

Hermione looked at him doubtfully. That was it? That was his big threat? "And how am I supposed to know what you deem as 'unpredictable' behavior from me?"

"Granger," he said firmly. "You're supposed to be the smartest mudblood around, right?"

Hermione didn't answer, just stared at him with distaste.

"Well, you should know what unpredictable means," he went on. "If it's honestly that hard to do, then I'll tell you whether or not it's good enough."

"And if it's not?" she snapped, still angry over the use of the word 'mudblood'.

"Well then, you'll have to do what I say is unpredictable then," he said, shrugging. "Like telling Snape you love him, maybe? That would certainly be a change."

Hermione, mortified by the image, said, "Fine. So if we win, you have to admit defeat to Harry, and if you win, I have to do something . . . _unpredictable_?"

"That's right," he said, nodding smugly. Just you wait Draco Malfoy, she thought darkly, just you wait.

"Fine, it's a bet then," she said.

Malfoy held out his arm.

"What?" said Hermione, staring at his hand.

"We have to shake on it," he said. "If you can take that much physical contact from me without trying to seduce me once more?"

Hermione grabbed his hand and shook it hard, twice, before she tore her hand away, or tried to. Malfoy held onto it just a moment longer.

"You have to be _gentle_ if you have any dreams about this," he said, gesturing to himself in general.

Coiling in disgust, Hermione grabbed her book and headed to her room, eager to see him lose the bet.

A/N: I thought I'd throw something new in there, just to get things moving. What'd you think? The chapters are coming along now at a steady pace, the next one will be done before Friday:) Please REVIEW! I love them, and I love to know what you think about the story, and how its going. I know I ask constantly, but it never changes. :) I hope nothings too confusing . . . with Professor Dolop or Malfoy or Hermione or whatnot. If there's anything you don't get, just ask :). The upcoming chapters should be good! Thanks for reading!


	7. Of His Glasses and Hysteria

hey, sorry this chapter was a bit late. Had a bit of trouble deciding about the ending of it. Let me know if it was worth the wait :)

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Chapter seven - His Glasses

On Wednesday evening, for the first time since Ron had initially made the team, Hermione headed off to watch the Gryffindors' Quidditch practice after dinner. Sure she had not finished her homework, sure she was supposed to be sorting through the prefects schedules, and sure, maybe she might have been supposed to be finding a good date for the next Hogsmade trip . . . but if she had a bet with Malfoy over the upcoming Quidditch match on Saturday, she was going to see what she had bet on.

Of course she had _confidence_ in the Gryffindor team, they hardly ever lost. And when they did, Hermione knew it was mostly due to good reason. A terrible fleeting memory of Dementors and a falling Harry flashed through her mind . . . She shook it off.

But Hermione was determined to beat Malfoy. When he had to go to Harry, tell him he was the better man _and_ apologize, maybe it would make him realize that he is in fact _not_ the best at everything, and maybe his pride will take just enough bruising, just enough, to make living with him bearable. Hermione grinned a little to herself as she made her way further down to the Quidditch pitch, there would also be the satisfaction of his expression, his complaining, and his conjuring up some excuse as to why he had lost. Hermione looked forward to it.

"Hey Granger," said a deep, smooth voice. Hermione's hair flew around her as she whipped her head in the other direction. Coming up immediately behind her was Blaise Zabini. Why did he always seem to be around her?

"What do you want, Blaise?" she asked flatly.

"Do you really need to ask?" he said, in that same weird tone that he had been using with her since the beginning of term.

"Good-bye, Blaise," Hermione said monotonously, turning and walking away.

"Now why," he said, walking in stride with her, "are you always in such a hurry?"

"Why does it matter to you?" she retorted, not looking at him.

"You know," he said slowly, stepping in front of her so she was forced to look at him at last, "if you like it fast, I could help you out."

"You are scum, Blaise Zabini," she spat, walking around him and holding her cloak close together. She was surprised, but pleased, when he didn't follow her any further. That boy was creepy.

As she finally made her way onto the Quidditch pitch she noticed that it was empty; they must still be in the changing rooms. She went over to the stands and took a seat, closest to the doors. It had been a while since she had seen the team in full action. She hoped they were good.

But they were. And they would win. And Slytherin would lose. And Malfoy would cry.

The doors swung open after about ten minutes and Hermione stood immediately. Ginny was the first to march out.

"Ginny!" Hermione said, waving.

She looked at her, mouthed, "Hermione?" and then came quickly over to where she stood.

"Hermione? What are you doing here?" she said. "What's wrong?"

Hermione laughed, "Nothing, nothing's wrong."

"What are you doing here?" she repeated, looking at her oddly.

"Came to watch," said Hermione with a smile, watching as the rest of the team poured out onto the field. Harry appeared to be talking to them. Ginny looked over as well, then quickly turned back to Hermione. Hermione could see the blush in her cheeks.

"Hm, I wonder what could make Ginny Weasley blush?" Hermione asked sarcastically, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh shuddup," she grumbled. "And don't change the subject! I know who _you're_ here to watch!"

"Who?" Hermione asked, bewildered.

"Haha, Hermione, nice try," said Ginny, "but you know he'll be a crap player tonight if he sees you watching, you know he'll get too nervous if you're here."

"_Ron?_" Hermione blurted.

"Yes," Ginny said slowly. "You're not here to watch him?"

"No!" said Hermione, quickly looking down and clearing her throat. "No, I mean, I'm not."

"Okay," Ginny said, "then why are you here?"

"I already said!" Hermione explained, smiling again. "To watch! Is there something wrong with that?"

"No, I guess not," shrugged Ginny, "but Ron'll still be all over the place. We'll be lucky if he don't fall right through the hoops like last time–"

"He didn't?" Hermione gasped. Ron had better pull it together for Saturday, she thought. How humiliated would she be if that happened? She would never hear the end of it from Malfoy.

"Yes he sure did," said Ginny. There were both looking out over the team. They seemed to be looking for something. "Looks like they've noticed I've gone, I'd better get back–"

"Right, go," said Hermione as Ginny headed off. "Before Harry gives you trouble!"

"I said shuddup!" she repeated. "And don't tell Ron I told you that, he'll murder me. And the teams needs at least one good Weasley for Saturday!"

And then she ran down to the field. So Hermione sat, and took out her notebook. Yes, she brought a notebook to the Quidditch pitch. She needed to know how they were, didn't she? What better way to do that then record it?

So they were off in the air. She couldn't tell exactly what they were doing, but she was sure it had to do with flying skills, as none of the balls were released yet. Half the team was flying straight ahead only about ten feet, stopping dead, and repeating all the way down to the end of the field. They turned around and returned. Harry said something, it was audible, but not so she could tell what it was he was saying. The next half of the team went ahead and started – Ron was in this half. Hermione was impressed by him, he seemed one of the best. She raised her eyebrows as she watched his mop of fiery red hair proceed to the end of the field and back again. She smiled in pride – Malfoy was in for a treat.

After that the team let out one bludger. She guessed the snitch was out too, because Harry flew off after a moment. And then Ginny and the other chasers lined up in front of the three hoops, where Ron hovered. Once again, he impressed her greatly. Ginny flew ahead a bit, then through the ball at a fair speed straight to the middle hoop – Ron snatched it, threw it up and caught it, then tossed it back as Ginny flew to the end of the line and the next chaser caught the Quaffle with ease. This one was a boy. He flew up, a bit farther than Ginny, and again, to the middle hoop. Ron grabbed that one with one hand and tossed it back quickly. The last chaser – another girl – came up, throwing extremely hard to the left hoop. Ron spun, or twirled, or something, and captured it with both hands. It went very fast.

The two beaters were about, hitting the one bludger back and forth, and ducking quickly when they weren't able to reach it in time. They were good. They could've been better. But they improved as the time wore on. Harry caught the snitch after half an hour, then released it, and waited ten seconds, and took off again. After forty-five minutes of the same things, the chasers were now all three throwing the ball, forcing Ron to be flying back and forth from the first hoop to the second hoop to the third hoop over and over as the ball traveled down the line. And then the chasers backed up, passing the quaffle between each other and launching it towards Ron at unexpected times. He got every one. Hermione guessed that without George and Fred, and without the pressure of an audience, he could do exceptionally well.

Pretty soon Harry gathered the team and they were practicing particular plays and specific runs about the field. This went on for some time. But Hermione kept watching. The one boy chaser, could do with being a bit father to his right on the third play, and Ron might've just come out a tiny bit further on the fifth. Harry was brilliant. Hermione had nothing to say about him – other than how scared she was every time he dipped down so low hear to the ground.

After an hour and forty minutes, just as Hermione's legs began to fall asleep, they touched down to the ground and after five minutes of Harry apparently talking, they dispersed. But they just seemed to be taking a break, because they stayed on the field and began to rest and stretch. Hermione grabbed her notebook and headed down to the field quickly.

"Hermione!" said Harry. He was closest to the stand as she made her way onto the grassy field. "Wha–why are you here? Is everything all right?"

Hermione stopped, and looked at him. Why did everyone assume, that just because she was there, that she must be running to tell them that something horrible had happened? "Yes, Harry, everything's all right."

"Oh," he said, looking lost as to what to say next. "Er, what _are_ you doing here, then?"

"Came to watch," she said, shrugging. Harry eyed her suspiciously.

"What for?" he asked her.

"Just to see," she said, not elaborating. He raised his eyebrows.

"'Mione, I know you, not saying that you wouldn't come to watch or anything, just, you know that I know you. Why are you here?" he continued, leaning on his broom.

"I just came to watch you practice!" said out of frustration. Any other time she would have told Harry about the bet, but she wasn't sure that telling him that she had bet on him would be any good – it may even mess him up. Maybe they weren't allowed to tell anyone about the bet, either? Hermione wasn't sure. But she didn't want to be the cause of her own humiliation.

"Alright, alright," he said. "That's great, but could you just go–?"

"What?" Hermione said, looking at him.

"I mean–no, you know, I just mean, over there . . . where you were . . . wherever, just go," he went on, looking around. "Before he sees–"

"Hermione?" said a hoarse voice. Ron cleared his throat as he approached them, pulling back his shoulders. He stumbled on the grass, stood up, and walked over with his ears red.

"Hello Ron," said Hermione with a smile. Harry smacked himself in the face and let his hand slide down. Hermione tilted her head in his direction.

"Great! GREAT!" said Harry, walking away. Hermione and Ron both stared after him.

"So what're you doin' here?" asked Ron.

"Came to watch you–" Hermione stopped. "Er, came to watch you and Harry and Ginny, you know . . . haven't seen you guys play in a bit . . ."

"Oh, great," he said, scratching the back of his head. He attempted to lean on his broom, slid off, and thumped his face off of the grass.

"Ron! You alright?" she asked, helping him up.

"Brilliant, fine, good," he spluttered.

"Alright! Let's go! Only a bit more to go now . . . a couple . . . release quaffle . . . timing . . . call it a night!"

Hermione and Ron both heard fragments of Harry's speech as he called the team in.

"Gotta go," said Ron.

"Okay, bye," said Hermione. And she watched as he flew off.

She shook her head. How was she going to make him realize that she didn't fancy him anymore? Hermione stopped. When did she stop fancying him? She had only a little while ago . . . she shrugged. She had too much to worry about without worrying about that too.

When she got back to the common room, Malfoy was hunched over the coffee table, papers spread out in front of him, and a quill in hand. The sight shocked Hermione so much she actually had to walk closer to make sure it was actually Malfoy.

"What are you doing?" she asked suddenly, from behind the couch. Malfoy started, whipped his head around, and stood.

"What am I _doing?_ What am _I_ doing?" he said, looking hysterical. "I've been doing _our_ head's work for the past two hours! Where the bloody hell have you been!"

"I–!" Hermione began, shrinking back a bit with wide eyes.

"Yeah, that's what I thought!" he said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Leave me with all the work, what a great Head Girl _you _are."

"You know what? I've been doing most of the work alone since we started, Malfoy," she began, drawing back her shoulders and narrowing her eyes at him. "Have I complained once? No! One night with the workload and you go insane!"

"I – what are you talking about?" he said. "_Insane_."

"Malfoy, did you _know_ that none of this is due until Friday? Meaning we have another day. Meaning I could've done it later, or tomorrow?" said Hermione.

"WHAT?" he shouted.

"Yes, that's right," she went on, "you're an idiot. I agree. See, if you would have taken any part in any of the meetings, you would have known this. You would have known that we don't meet the prefects until Friday night, and you would have known that we had more time. It's you that's making a fool out of your position."

"You–!" he began. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again it was with indifference. "So where the hell were you anyway?"

"What does it matter to you?" Hermione asked him.

"Checking on your precious Gryffindors, were you?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows.

"How did you–?" Hermione said, looking at him with dislike.

"Blaise saw you," said Draco simply, shrugging his head off to the side.

"So now you send your friends to spy on me?" Hermione snapped heatedly.

"Yeah right, like I care what you do that much," he scoffed. "I have no idea why he–never mind. Point is, you're trying to see if they're good enough to beat me."

"No," Hermione said at once, "I was not. Three of my best friends happen to be on that team, Malfoy."

He smirked, shook his head, and sat down on the couch, putting his feet up on the table, over all the paper work. "How many times do I have to tell you that you are an awful liar before you get it, Granger?"

Hermione said nothing, just glared at him. He laughed. Hermione got down on her knees and sat down by the coffee table, looking through all of the mixed up papers. She pulled the last stack from beneath his feet, and they flopped onto the floor.

"So now you're grumpy because I figured you out?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh shut up already!" she snapped, still looking through the papers.

He leaned forwards, his elbows resting on his knees with his hands folded. He smirked at her as she looked up at him.

"So how goes your burning passion for me?" He wiggled his eyebrows.

Hermione grimaced. She wished he would go away. He was making her very embarrassed about her previous actions.

"Not good?" he asked, in a fake sad-tone.

"Sod off, Ferret," she snapped.

"Aw, I can see you're bottling your feelings, because now I know, but," and he climbed right off of the couch and sat right next to her, "you really . . . _suck_ . . . at hiding it . . ."

Hermione looked at him with a doubtful expression. His eyes flickered downward, and yet again, his eyebrows jumped up and down in his arrogant fashion "You know you want it."

Hermione jumped up. "MALFOY! Are you kidding me – for Merlin's sake, you're disgusting!"

Malfoy burst out laughing. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Oh you think you're so clever, but you're not," she snapped, grabbing the papers and throwing them in his face. His laughter did not falter. Hermione, beat red from anger and embarrassment, ran off to her room in a pout. That was another one for Malfoy.

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"But _I_ wanted Thursdays!"

"No! I asked for them ages ago, and plus you already asked fer Fridays."

"What about _me_? I wanted Fridays and I got Mondays!"

"So what? Look at this! I had Wednesdays since I bin doin' it, and now I got stuck with Tuesdays _and_ Saturdays at nine! I can't do them!"

Hermione smirked at Malfoy as he glared around the room.

"Looks like scheduling is harder than it seemed, isn't it Malfoy?" she said to him.

"Shut it," he snarled.

"I CAN'T DO MONDAYS!"

"But _I_ can't do Thursdays, I can't switch _now_!"

"SHUT UP!"

The whole room went silent and everyone looked at Malfoy as his chest heaved and he wiped the hair from his face as it fell into his eyes.

"Now what the bloody hell are you all going on about?" he sneered to the room.

A mixture of complaints, whining and yelling and shouting erupted. One glare from Malfoy silenced them again. Hermione was momentarily impressed by his authority.

"One at a time, morons," he said stiffly.

"I _cannot_ do Fridays, it's absolutely impossible!" said the fifth year blonde-headed girl. Hermione recognized her as Suzanne Sezanear, a near bobble-headed gossip machine that traveled in some of the same circles as Ginny.

"Why not?" drawled Malfoy in a bored tone.

"Well _obviously_ because its only the best night of the week, I mean, Mondays are not good at all, because we just get back to school and there's like mountains and mountains of homework already, like you need a shovel to get through it all, and Tuesday's is so boring because my classes don't have any cute guys in them, but Wendy, my total bestest, is in all of those classes so its okay but on Wednesdays I can't either because I watch my boyfriend – oh my God he's dreamy! – practice for Quidditch, oh and then Thursday is just like one total big BLAH before the weekend starts and then on Friday the weekend has officially started so like, yeah right, I'm doing Prefect's duties? Purrrleaaze! I mean, ask anyone but me, I've _always_ got things to do on a Friday night like one time, a couple weeks ago, me and Wendy, not Wendy in sixth year from Ravenclaw but Wendy in fifth year from Hufflepuff, we were with my boyfriend – she's totally jealous, always has been, and she denies it, but like, yeah _right_ Wendy, I mean, I love her to death, but there's a line, you know? – and anyways, we were with my boyfriend and his friend and we were sneaking to this thing right and oh my God she like totally flips out and I was like calm down Wendy but like Peeves was like flying over her head and like singing this song about this monstrous zit that she got like two days ago and oh Merlin she was like beat red and my boyfriend like started to laugh and I started to laugh and his friend started to laugh and we all laughed and then we like all stopped . . ." she took a enormous breath and continued, "and it was SUCH a good night like we had so much fun, except for Wendy from fifth year in Hufflepuff, we aren't BFF anymore, now I'm BFF with Wendy from sixth year in Ravenclaw and she wears way nicer nail polish anyway so like duh? Why not be her bestest friend and like she invited me to this thing on Friday night next week and if I have Prefect's duties how can I go? I mean, I'd have to blow them off, but I don't want to, so the only reasonable and sane solution is to not schedule me for Friday nights, because I'm never available, do you like get it now? I mean, it's pretty simple."

The room was silent. Malfoy's eyes bulged out of his head like never before as he stared at her with his mouth gaping slightly. "Er–?"

Hermione stood, pushed Malfoy back into his seat and cleared her throat while she leafed through some papers. She looked at the large blackboard beside her with the schedules written out. "Okay, Suzanne you will do Tuesdays and Thursdays, Charlie, your back to Sundays and Wednesdays, Lora, Rosemary, Leo and Vern, your all back to your regulars, oh and Sheila, I know that you have an extra class to handle so you'll only do one day a week for now until your caught up, and then Ron, you can take Saturdays and Mondays, alternating like before, and Ralph and Jack you are taking your schedules and moving the first day forward and the second day back, the times stay the same, and then Sam and Eric and Jackson you three will take your old schedules and just switch the alternation to the opposite week, okay ? And . . . that seems like it . . . the rest look relatively okay . . . oh, and Fredrick, you take your times, and move them forward an hour on Mondays and take the hours you have on Fridays and move them back one, and that'll fix the conflict with the curfews, okay?"

There was a slight murmur in the room for a second, and it died away a second later.

"Good, you can go now," Hermione said, dismissing them. "Don't forget about the Hogsmade date and Filches' rule about the magic masks in the Great Hall. If there are any questions, come find either me or Malfoy." Hermione paused. "Try to find me first."

And the crowd thinned.

"Well, maybe next time you'll take it slow and do it right?" Hermione simpered. She looked at Malfoy and raised her eyebrows.

"She . . ." he said slowly, "talked so fast . . . It actually hurt me a little bit."

Hermione laughed. "She does tend to get a bit carried away with her . . . stories," Hermione said, shrugging as she packed the papers away into her bag.

"So," said Malfoy, standing up, "ready for me to beat you precious Gryffindors tomorrow?"

"First off, I _am_ a Gryffindor, I don't own them. And second, you're not going to win," said Hermione, heading towards the door.

"Yeah, sure, believe whatever you want Granger, but my team's got a few . . . _new_ tricks up our sleeves," he said.

Hermione stopped, turned to face him and narrowed her eyes, "If I catch you cheating Malfoy, you lose the bet."

"Cheating? I don't have to cheat to beat the likes of Potter and his magical gang of misfits," he scoffed. "I'm just warning you, if you admit defeat to me now, I won't make it so hard on you."

"I'm not giving up," she said immediately. "You are going to lose tomorrow, and you are just trying to get to me to call off the bet so that you don't have to."

"You're wrong."

"You're scared."

And they stood there glaring at each other for a moment longer before Hermione remembered that she had somewhere to be. And so she turned and left the room.

"Just remember I gave you an out!" he said as the door swung shut.

Hermione smirked and shook her head. He was pathetic. Giving her an 'out'? She didn't need an out. She needed a new roommate, a better Head Boy, and an antidote for arrogance, but she didn't need an out. She was fine in, right where she was.

She made her way to the Gryffindor tower and headed inside.

"Hey Hermione," said Ginny. "How was the meeting? Ron said Malfoy made a fool of himself."

"He did, it was great," said Hermione, approaching her friend. "So . . . are you guys all ready for the match tomorrow?"

"Oh yeah, we're set," said Ginny excitedly. "Harry's even come up with these new defense tricks, we'll win for sure."

Hermione smiled. "Good."

"Why are you all of a sudden so interested in Quidditch?" asked Ginny. "First you come to practice, and now your making sure we're set for the game? I don't get it."

"Just trying to support the team, be a little more involved," said Hermione in defense. Just then Harry and Ron came down from the boy's dormitories.

"Hey 'Mione,' said Harry. "I heard Sezanear gave Malfoy an earful tonight."

"You should have seen his face," said Ron, laughing.

So the four of them sat down at a table in the corner by the fire and chatted for a while. They discussed the team for a while, and Hermione was more than willing to listen. After they had finally moved off of that topic, Ginny mentioned something about Professor Dolop.

"Someone said that he's not married," said Ginny, smiling at Hermione.

"Who?" asked Hermione. The three of them looked at her. "Well, just asking."

"Hm, it was one of Suzanne's friends I think actually," said Ginny thoughtfully. "Noticed he doesn't wear a ring at all. So she asked him an' he said he wasn't."

"Oh," said Hermione. She had already known this of course, but she didn't understand why it was so interesting to Ginny. "Why is that so important?"

"Well, when I thought he was, that was different, it was all jokes," said Ginny, looking down and still smiling. Harry looked away and Ron grimaced.

"You know Ginny, that may have been the stupidest thing you have ever said or thought about," said Hermione bluntly. "You're kidding right?"

"But he's so hot!" whined Ginny. And as the boys were still looking away Hermione raised her eyebrows and looked at Harry. Ginny blushed a little and shrugged.

"But anyway," said Hermione after a moment. "You should be excited for the holidays, right? They're only a month away now."

And Harry and Ron had a lot to say about that. They were planning to go to the Weasley's for Christmas, well Ron and Harry and Ginny.

"You're invited too, Hermione, of course, mum would never let us leave you here," said Ron. He wasn't looking at her though.

"Oh," was all she could say. Did she want to go there again this year? Harry and Ginny would probably want some alone time, did she want to be forced into that situation? Hermione pushed that to the back of her mind for now. It was a while off. She had time to think about it later.

And they talked an hour more. Hermione thought it was nice to just sit and laugh with her friends like they had used to do all the time; when she had resided in the Gryffindor tower. She missed it a lot. Why did the Head Girl and Boy have to share a dorm? Why would Dumbledore do that? Have a person living with their friends for six years, and then have them removed for the graduation year?

But maybe Hermione needed some independence? She was independent in her studies, but living alone had given her a larger sense of responsibility – it was more like real life. But did she want to face that kind of thing before she had to? Why couldn't she just stay with her friends, and have their last year just as good, even better, then the previous ones?

Hermione couldn't help but to notice, that since they had started talking and her mind had wandered . . . that his chair had moved considerably closer to her own. She shook the thought off. So what? No big deal. So they talked for a while more. Harry and Ginny had a few awkward moments, where they were all laughing, and the two would catch each other's eye and stare for a moment before looking away. Hermione was happy that they were getting closer. But she wasn't happy that Ron had just inched his way even closer to her.

But when his hand slipped over her own underneath the table, she couldn't explain the feeling she had gotten.

Hermione leapt from her seat, and thwacked her head off of a statuette on the wall behind her. She held her head for a moment, feeling dizzy.

"Hermione!" gasped Ginny. "Are you alright?"

Harry stood to help her. Ron still sat at his chair staring down, but Hermione knew he was looking at his hand. She could notice his reddening ears at a glance.

"Yeah . . . fine," she mumbled, embarrassed.

"Hermione–?" said Ginny, beside her. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine, but I have to go," she said quickly, heading for the door. She avoided Ron's eyes all the time until she was out in the hallway and the portrait door swung shut behind her.

She stopped, leaned against the wall, and breathed a moment. What was that? Why had she just acted like that? Why had Ron touching her hand been such a big deal.

"He's practically my brother . . ." she said underneath her breath. She growled out of frustration and set off in a fast paced walk down the corridor.

She didn't even remember heading back to her dorm . . . partially because she didn't go to her dorm. She headed towards Professor Dolop's office. And as she knocked on his door, she wondered why she was there. What was he going to say? But she did not turn around. She was already there.

And he opened his door, wearing black-framed glasses Hermione had not seen him wear before. They looked good on him.

"Hermione–?"

"I am a _terrible_ person! Terrible!" she said, throwing her hands up in the air and walking into her friend's office. She slumped down into the chair she usually occupied.

"What's–?" he said, sitting in his chair.

"Ron."

"Weasley?" he asked, his brow raised.

"Yes."

"What's he done now?" he asked, a slight grin etching onto his lips. Hermione almost smiled, but a churning feeling in her stomach stopped her.

"Nothing, it's _me_ who's gone and done it," she sighed, letting her head fall into her hands. "We've been friends since first year . . . since he and Harry saved me from that troll, remember, I told you? Well, anyway, along the lines . . . _somewhere_, I guess we sort of developed this . . . thing . . ."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, shaking his head a little bit.

"I guess . . . maybe a relationship . . . but not even close, ugh," she went on, sighing again. There were a few moments of silence until Dolop cleared his throat.

"You two . . . have a thing?" he said at last.

"No, no, _believe_ me, no we don't," said Hermione. "It's just, I used to fancy him . . . and now I don't . . . I dunno if he used too, if he did, he hid it well, I was more sort of–"

"The point . . . ?" Dolop said, interrupting her rambling.

"Right, well, the point is that he _really_ fancies me now . . . and I don't at all," she replied. And then there was more silence. Hermione wasn't uncomfortable, she didn't expect him to have a lot to say about this. It was, after all, about she and Ron. "I am a terrible person."

"No, you're not, believe me, you're not," he said. "You cannot _help_ your feelings. How they change, how they disappear . . ." he went on, looking at her as she gnawed on her lower lip and stared at nothing in particular. "How they develop . . ."

"Hm?" asked Hermione.

"I–oh my, what's–?" he jumped up, rounded the desk and approached Hermione with haste. Her eyes widened at the look on his face.

"What?" she asked nervously.

"You're bleeding!"

"What?" she said again. She felt her neck and looked at her hands; blood. Her heart fluttered in her chest as a tendril of blood snaked its way down her neck.

"How do you feel?" he asked frantically.

And then Hermione suddenly knew, and she laughed.

"Oh no, you're delirious!" he said, looking around the room for nothing in particular.

"Professor–!"

"Are you dizzy?"

"Professor Dolop I–"

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"I–!"

"Can you could backwards from ten?"

"Wait–!"

"Can you–?"

"PROFESSOR!"

And then he was quiet, and he stared at her unblinkingly.

"I'm okay," she said slowly, grinning slightly.

"You – are?"

"Yes."

"You're quite sure?"

"I am."

"Oh," he said, pausing for a moment, "good . . ."

"I did it to myself," she said, moving her hair over one shoulder so the blood would not touch her hair.

"You–?"

"Yes, oh, well, not on purpose, of course," she went on. "When I jumped up, away from Ron – he tried to hold my hand – and I jumped up like he had burned me. Oh Merlin, I'm a terrible person."

"Stop with that for a moment, and let me see," he said, moving behind her as he regained his composure. Hermione obliged. She tilted her head over a little. "It's not bad, I don't think you'll need to see Madame Pomfrey."

"Okay," she said. "So you'll fix it then?"

"Well," he said, pausing. "I'm not an expert at healing spells – I am a muggle studies Professor after all. But it shouldn't be too hard to do it manually."

"Manually?" she asked, unmoving.

"Yes, one moment.

And he was gone. Hermione turned to see him open a door she had never noticed and come out quicky again with a white cloth in his hand.

"Go back the way you were, please," he said, and she did.

And then she started as he touched it to her neck; it was very cold.

"Sorry," he said, wiping off the blood. "Cold water usually works better with blood."

"Okay," she said again. Why couldn't she say anything else? Hermione thought it was surreal, at the beginning of the night she had been arguing with Malfoy, then laughing with her friends . . . and now she was seated here, having blood wiped from her neck by Professor Dolop. And he still had his glasses on. And they looked good. How had she not seen his glasses before? And how had she not noticed what Ginny had meant, by his face being especially symmetrical?

But what did that matter?

He looks good.

_But what does that matter_!

Goosebumps rose on the back of Hermione's neck as she felt a soft rush of air touch her skin. It was cooling. And then she realized that it was Dolop.

How had she gotten here again? Why did she feel dizzy still? And why was she feeling a rush of warmth over herself? It was hot in here. She needed a glass of water. She needed to go to bed. She was tired. Very tired.

He looks good.

And then that thought crept in through her mind again. Why had she noticed that?

Why did you _just_ notice that?

And then she shook her head. And the cool rush of air had stopped. And there was silence. Hermione could hear her own heart beat in her ears. And she could hear Dolop's breathing. He was still behind her.

And then the silence was broken as he cleared his throat and pushed her hair back over her right shoulder. He rounded his desk and put the cloth down slowly.

"It wasn't bad," he said. "Er, you should probably . . . go . . . er, rest."

"Okay."

And there was that word again! Say something else.

"Er, thanks," Hermione managed to say. At the beginning of the night she couldn't shut up, and now she could hardly think of four words to say in a row!

"All right, feel better Hermione," he said quickly, getting up and opening the door. And Hermione stood and she approached the door. She turned and faced him for just a moment.

And then she left and was gone once more.


	8. Of Realization and Quidditch

hey again . I hope you like this chapter, I enjoyed writing it. This chapter has a lot to do with the previous, so try and pick up on that, though it shouldn't be hard, I made it pretty plain. Any who, as always, I'd love to know what you think! Enjoy!

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Chapter eight - Of Realization and Quidditch

On Saturday morning Hermione sat bolt right up in her bed, awoken just as suddenly as if someone had shouted in her ear, with her eyes wide and her brow furrowed, but not by the fact that she remembered what she had done to Ron last night, not by the fact that she had been bleeding and Professor Dolop had fixed her up, not by the fact that the Quidditch match was today, and not by the fact that the bet would be decided and she may have to admit an undying love for Snape after the match was over.

He had said he name. Her first name. He had called her Hermione, instead of 'Miss Granger'.

And she noticed?

Well, of course she hadn't last night, she had just been hit in the head - she wasn't thinking very clearly. But he had. She remembered now. He had said it when she had arrived at his office, and he had said it once just before she left. She had just realized. But did that matter?

No.

_Sure it does._

How?

And she shook her head clear of those stupid thoughts. Of course it didn't matter. It was her name after all, what's the difference how he addresses her, as long as it's polite? There was no difference, or at least that's what she decided. And that was right. There was no difference.

So she got out of bed, with the happy prospect of watching Gryffindor win today, and watching Malfoy humiliate himself. It should be a good day. So she dressed, choosing some jeans, a plain white tank top and a t-shirt that went over it. She also slipped on a sweater, and grabbed her coat, gloves, scarf and hat. She was ready to support red and gold today. Today was the day. Today.

She tied her hair back in a high pony tail and her bangs had decided to fall to the side. So she headed down to the dorm kitchen and poured herself a tea. And as she sat at the table, Malfoy came out of his room, in those plaid pj pants and a black muscle shirt. And why did she notice that you could notice how muscular he was?

She didn't.

She looked down to her tea and took another short sip and cleared her throat.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready?" she asked him, or more, the room. She still didn't look at him.

"The match doesn't start for another hour and a half, I'll be ready," he shrugged, entering the kitchen and using the water she had boiled to pour himself a tea as well.

"I mean, ready to talk to Harry. Are you sure you'll be ready to do it on the spot? – because you're going to have to, it's part of the bet," she said simply, smirking into her cup.

He rose his mug slowly to his lips, and smirked as he lowered it again and swallowed.

"And you say I'm arrogant."

She glared at him. It was confidence, not arrogance. So she said nothing more, she had proven her point. It was tense in the room, Hermione and Malfoy looked up and glared at each other every so often. It was clear that the tension of the bet was closing in on them. But Hermione wasn't afraid. And just as she rose from the table, Malfoy spoke again.

"The Weaselette came by last night."

Hermione stopped, turned and faced him. "When?"

"Idunno, after ten," he said, shrugging as he took another sip of his tea.

So Ginny came by to see if she was alright. And she hadn't even been here, she had been with Dolop. Hermione bit her lip. Would she ask where she had been? What would Hermione say? That she ran to Professor Dolop as her first resort? That didn't sound very good, and it wouldn't make any sense, either.

Hermione woke from her reverie as Malfoy's chair scraped against the floor and he headed up to his room. She watched after him for a moment before she left to go and see if Harry and Ron and Ginny were ready.

But when she entered the common room, there was an uproar. A crowd of all the dorm mates were in the common room, yelling and talking. Most seemed angry, some looked confused, and others just seemed to be looking or walking around aimlessly. Hermione was not pleased to see that it was the Gryffindor team that seemed to be the angry party. She rushed over to Harry.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked, squeezing through the crowd of Gryffindors that were shouting and talking excitedly. She was afraid to hear the answer.

"Ginny's not playing today!" said Harry, throwing his broom down and walking away.

"What? Why not?" Hermione asked frantically, panic rushing through her.

"She went out after curfew and McGonnagal caught her!" snarled Harry, slamming down onto a chair, scaring off some second years in the process. Hermione stared at him in disbelief.

"Where did she go?" Hermione asked in a small voice. If she had been at her dorm, Ginny might've not been caught. If she hadn't acted so stupid, Ginny wouldn't have had to come and check on her at all.

"Idunno, I didn't even see her go, I wouldn't have let her go," said Harry, sounding thoroughly depressed.

"Oh," was all Hermione could manage. She could feel that this was her fault.

"We still have a chance . . . it's Slytherin after all. But now we have to play with whatever chaser we can find and–

"Ginny!" Harry suddenly sprung up from his chair and marched over to a sullen-looking red headed girl. "Why'd you have to go and get yourself caught last night! Now we're short a chaser!"

"You don't think I know that?" she snapped right back at him. And it seemed the memories from the previous night had vanished. "You think I went looking for McGonnagal? You think I'm stupid?"

"Yes!" shouted Harry. "How're we going to play now!"

"Oh you're one to talk, Mister Harry Potter, who was the one who got detentions about a zillion times during Quidditch tryouts in fifth year? And who has landed himself in more trouble then anyone _at_ this school? You!" Ginny retorted bitterly. "I do one thing, get caught one time, and I'm suddenly the worst person ever?"

"We need you out there–!" said Harry.

"You do not!" said Ginny. "The team is great, there's seven players, not just one or all or none, we've _all_ been practicing for weeks. We can take them – er, you guys can."

"But–!"

"Oi!" came a voice from across the room. "Lay off'er!"

And then Hermione looked away as Ron approached them.

"Ron do you even understand–?" began Harry heatedly. Hermione looked at Ginny, but could not catch her eye. She did not dare to interrupt them while they argued.

"Harry, I'm not stupid," he said flatly. "I know. But give her a break, how many stunts have we pulled?"

And Harry was silent. He left, grabbed his broom and stormed off. "Let's go!" he snarled to the team and they followed him out. Ron shrugged at Ginny, did not look at Hermione, and followed his friend. Ginny sighed. "Mind if I watch with you, then?"

"Ginny I–"

"It's okay," said Ginny, holding up her hands. "I shouldn't have went out. It's my own fault."

But the churning in Hermione's stomach did not subside. She felt awful. "Shall we go, then?"

"They can still take them," said Ginny, "I don't mind not playing that much, if just Harry would let up a little bit. He hardly even _knows_ the amounts of rules _he's_ broken, and yet he takes it so hard . . ." grumbled Ginny as they headed out with the rest of their house.

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He was pacing his office. His hair was a mess, looking tufted and static-bound as it pointed in all directions any way it chose. The flutter of his heart did not seem to be helping the racing of thoughts inside his mind. A flash of golden-brown curls and he had lost the word; it had fallen right from his tongue.

The drapes were carefully spread across the windows, blocking the white-grey bleak light that was shining outside that morning. So the room was considerably dark, a deep blue almost. The papers that he would usually leaf threw, that he would usually be reading, grading, correcting; spending time looking after – they all sat unnoticed, balancing precariously on his desk, books teetered between one another, just barely staying connected to the desks and the shelves. The deep and dark browns of the oak gleamed as the dim lighting from his desk lamp shone, spreading, and hitting the right spots every minute or so.

But he hadn't time to spend noticing these things; he had to think. And he was trying. Think. Think. Think. But was there a use? Could he expect himself to lose his train of thought, to find someway to distract himself from what had been on his mind, to unload the heavy items upon his conscience, to find someway to un-notice what he had noticed? Was there any possibility?

But of course there wasn't. What had happened had happened, what had been seen and done and thought about had been seen and done and thought about already – there was no taking it back. He knew that very well, he was an adult, he was a teacher. So he should've known better. Should have known better than to let his mind and thoughts wander; should have known better than to befriend a student; than to have fooled himself into thinking that he would not let himself think about that; then to have assumed that his mind was stronger than the average wizard's. He should have known.

But he didn't, or did and didn't care. But now he had lead himself into a situation where all he had to do was sit and bare it, to be non-bias, to do his job and stop acting like anything could ever happen. Because she was a student and he was a teacher. Because it was the difference between what was right and what was wrong. Because it was common sense. Because he wasn't going to, shouldn't, wouldn't and could not do anything. Because . . . because – just because.

Had she noticed? Had she heard her name? Or had she been too concerned about Mr Weasley to even hear anything he might've said or might have tried to say? Because he had slipped up more than once . . . besides her name, that is. And she would not notice, and he would not say anything else. He would be the friend that he had been. That he still was. They were friends. They talked. A lot. They were friends. Friends. Friends.

The more this word played into his mind the more he thought of all the restrictions, of all the time, of all the possibilities. And the more he thought about that, the more ashamed and guilty he grew. Like a wound that kept opening up further and further, never closing, just spreading, until it consumed you entirely. Like a corner made of dark; you were trapped but you had no idea where.

That was the question. Where was he? _Did_ he like her more than a friend? Definitely more than a student. But more than a friend? Maybe it was simply the male gene; to think of every female that way? But no, that wasn't any good either. Because then those thoughts were still there! And she was just a student, a girl, and she did not think the way he did. She would not look at him that way unless she knew . . . But he would not say anything, because that was a step over the line.

He had been so grateful that she had been the only girl, the only student, in his classes that wouldn't smile and giggle and pass notes and bat their eyelashes (a fleeting smile appeared on his face as he remembered mentioning The Eyelashes to Hermione). Now? Was it any different? If she did have one of those stupid crushes on him, would he act? No, of course not. That would be wrong. But, if something _developed_, would that be the same thing?

What the hell was he even thinking!

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!

And he repeated this over and over in his mind as he grabbed his coat and hat; it gave him another word to think about besides the one that had been trapped in his thoughts for three weeks now.

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Hermione listened to Ginny as she described the 'fair' playing conditions all the way down the pitch and as they found seats right up front and closest to the Gryffindor hoops, where Ron would soon hover. The sky was just as grey and bleak as it had been, but apparently that was a good thing because 'visibility would be good without the set back of the sun being in anyone's eyes'. But Hermione didn't have the time to see any logic, she needed to see what Malfoy was doing. With Ginny not playing, it would take just a little more luck to have Malfoy screw up.

"It's supposed to rain, so if Harry can make this a short match, there'll be nothing he can yell about."

"Right," agreed Hermione, absent mindedly. And she nodded every time Ginny paused. She was busy staring at the Slytherin team, where Malfoy seemed to be giving some sort of speech and the rest of the team seemed to be jeering and shouting happily – well as happily as Slytherins are able. She wondered what they could be so happy about. Malfoy was waving something about, something black and square, but Hermione couldn't tell what it was from up in the stands. Would she have time to go down and –? No, she wouldn't go that low as to spy on him. But still . . . the Slytherin team was never _this_ cheery before facing the Gryffindor team. Ever. Hermione's stomach was uneasy. Something was up.

"Here they come!" said Ginny.

And the teams were marching out onto the field. Hermione stared intently at Malfoy as he smirked at Harry the entire time. His expression was especially arrogant at this moment, as he looked at Harry and extended his arm to shake hands. And then they shook, or rather, gripped hands firmly. They mounted their brooms. Hermione's heart had never beat so fast at a Quidditch game before – or at least one where Harry had been in no danger of getting hurt, which at admittedly was rare, yes, but that wasn't the point. The point was that she was ready for Gryffindor to show Malfoy up, and be the leeway into her happiness for the rest of the year, or at least until Malfoy's embarrassment dies away.

"Come on now, I want a good game!" commanded Madame Houch firmly. "No nonsense!"

The quaffle and both bludgers were released into the air, followed soon after by the snitch, that glittered in what sunlight it could not evade and then disappeared; the match began. Gryffindor got the quaffle right off, took it up towards Slytherins' posts, and they saved it. Back to Gryffindors' end, where a nervous Ron stared at the quaffle, straining his eyes from blinking. Slytherin took a shot . . . and Ron saved it!

The Gryffindors cheered and shouted in praise. Hermione sighed in relief. That was it, Ron. You can do this.

So it went on like that, no points, blocking and shooting, bludgers nearly knocking people off of their brooms, the quaffle changing hands more and more often, and Harry and Malfoy circling around the pitch for the snitch – for about forty-five minutes.

And then the first score was made.

"TEN POINTS FOR GRYFFINDOR!"

And they cheered, and booed and shrieked and laughed and shouted and heckled.

Ten to nil. Hermione smiled.

"That took a while," grumbled Ginny from Hermione's side. But she stopped just as Gryffindor gained another ten points.

Then Slytherin scored; more cheering and booing. The stadium was torn.

"Here we go!" said Ginny excitedly, sitting forward and beaming.

The Gryffindor had gotten into a position for defense and Hermione recognized it as one of the better plays that Harry had devised, she had marked it down in her notebook herself with pride. So they got into their position, and flew forwards, every person looked concentrated, and Harry beamed from above in pride and nervousness.

Hermione turned to look at her fellow Gryffindors, and she smiled; they all looked very sure of a win today. Good. But just then, their faces changed from wide smiles and bright eyes to furrowed brows and gaping mouths. People were muttering to one another, and sure enough, the whole stadium followed suit.

"What are they playing at!" sneered Ginny, staring at the players.

Hermione's eyes followed her friends, and it was not hard to notice the point of interest. Slytherin had gotten into the exact same position as Gryffindor had. They were matching their every move. They knew what they were going to do before they did it; Slytherin was flying to catch a Gryffindor who hadn't moved yet. Hermione gaped up at the scene. How–?

"SLYTHERIN TIES IT UP!"

And they scored. The Slytherins screamed with delight. Gryffindor moaned in unison.

And it started to rain. Then it started to pour. Everyone was drenched ten minutes later, and Sytherin was on a streak. Hermione stared very closely so as to not lose sight of Malfoy.

And before anyone knew it, Slytherin was at eighty points and Gryffindor was still stuck at twenty. Hermione was staring at Malfoy, as he casually rode around in search of the snitch, smirking at Harry, who was going insane with confusion, the entire time. She scowled. Something wasn't right. And they rain was beating down as hard as ever now. The winds were picking up quickly.

"LOOK!" shouted Ginny, jumping up. Her hair was matted to her face and she had to wipe the water off of her face as she spoke. "LOOK OVER THERE!"

Both Harry and Malfoy had shot off down the left side of the pitch and were racing against each other madly. Swerving, whirling, turning, weaving – on and on they went all the way around the pitch . . . above HufflePuff's seats . . . straight to the middle of the pitch . . . higher and higher and higher . . . Until they were no longer visible. And everyone stared up, waiting for their return – even the players had slowed. Everyone gained mouthfuls of water as they searched the skies – the grey and blackening clouds and the rain drops that smacked you like glass. And everyone waited. And waited. And waited. And Hermione twisted her wet hands around one another impatiently. Her fingers and toes were numb. Her hair was soaking wet and her eyes could not bare the rain pounding down any longer. But she had to wait.

Just then they returned, diving straight towards the ground. Everyone started in unison. And down they went . . . Malfoy and Harry were neck and neck . . . and their hands were reaching out.

"COME ON HARRY!" shouted Hermione wildly. Her heart was throwing itself against her rib cage madly. Come on . . .

And they were too close to the ground now . . .

Harry and Malfoy both tumbled down onto the ground in a heap of flailing limbs and flying mud.

They stopped. Everyone held their breath.

And then the stadium erupted.


	9. Of Unpredictability

I am SO sorry this took so long. This chapter had been halfway done for some time, and then I have school and work and homework and everything .. so it's not because I forgot about the story, or because I'm giving up. Sorry for the wait! The next chapter will be uploaded much faster (by next friday, I'm guessing) and it will be really good, I promise ! Anyway, enjoy :).

Chapter nine - Unpredictable

The crowds were cheering, howling, booing, screeching, shouting, talking, staring, gaping, screaming and going crazy as they stared down at the muddy pile of seekers on the field. Up from the scramble of boys came a muddy hand, fingers clamped tightly and triumphantly around a fluttering, golden snitch, then a black glove, followed by a muddy sleeve and . . .

Platinum blonde hair.

Malfoy stood, smirking down at Harry, holding the snitch in the air as the students and teachers all stared and cheered and clapped and howled and smiled and heckled. He had gotten it; caught the snitch; won the game; won the bet; beat Gryffindor; smashed Hermione's pride and hope into a million pieces.

"No!" gasped Ginny. _"FERRET!"_

Hermione stared. She gaped. No. No way.

Harry rose from the ground, staring at his hands and then glaring up at Malfoy. He trudged away from him slowly and ashamedly as the Slytherin team ran to greet their heroin. One of the chasers were running, waving a black rectangular thing about . . . that same thing Hermione had seen earlier.

Her heart had fallen, it seemed, miles and miles until it rested deep in the pit of her stomach where shame and pride mixed and swallowed her. How could Malfoy win? _How? _There was no way he could _ever_ beat Harry! Never. Never ever. Well, not fairly.

And then Hermione knew; something clicked inside her brain. She stared intently down at the field, where Malfoy had taken hold of that black . . . rectangular . . . _notebook!_ Hermione's eyes widened at first, then her brows fell and she glared, seeing red, shaking, her mind rattled.

"MY NOTEBOOK!" she shouted. Of course no one heard her, as all of the Gryffindors seated around her were still booing and yelling and heckling at the Slytherins. That was her notebook, the one she had taken with her to the Gryffindor Quidditch practice. And she had written down everything . . . everything . . . even all of Harry's . . . best . . . plays . . .

Hermione glared daggers at Malfoy and pushed her way out of the front row, and when Ginny turned around, fully red in the face, she was nowhere in sight.

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Hermione stomped all the way back to her dorm in an awfully raging mood. As she slammed the portrait door shut, ignoring the old lady's protests of "Oh!" and "Really, now!", she flung her sopping wet coat onto the table and kicked off her shoes. Her gloves flew across the room and she snarled at her socks that refused to be pried off her feet. When she finally managed to see her bare feet, she ripped her scarf off of her neck and growled in frustration.

That dirty little thief. Slytherin scum. Cheater.

Hermione might have felt relief if she wasn't so angry; she wouldn't have to go through with the bet. She had told him flat out, _told_ him, that if she caught him cheating, he wouldn't win. Well, he had won the game . . . but when McGonnagal or Dumbledore found out _how_ . . . maybe they would scratch the win in for Gryffindor, or call a rematch. Something. Anything.

Hermione suddenly had a thought. She didn't think he was smart or anything . . . but was he really _that_ stupid as to walk around, waving her book about, giving her all of the proof, and the whole stadium, no less, that he had had her book in his possession? Ruining any plan or thoughts about his own little anti-alibi? Would he do that? Or maybe, he did it on purpose to throw her off? Would he put that much effort into something this stupid? Over winning a stupid bet against her? Over winning a Quidditch match?

Well, the Quidditch-match-theory made more sense than anything else, but still, would he risk his Head Boyship over it? Hermione wondered. It didn't seem to make sense, and yet, he had her notebook, he had known Harry's game plans and positions, and he had won by cheating!

Hermione glared at the fire, the orange and yellow and red blurred the more she stared. She was numb from shock. This was outrageous. There was no way he could possibly win fairly. And where the hell was he anyway? It had been nearly forty minutes since the game ended. Hermione was shaking from anger and frustration. She was so mad she felt as if she might even cry. She hated him so much. Especially at this moment. Maybe she should go and talk to Professor Dolop? Was it a good idea to be this angry and wait for Malfoy to come back to their dorm? Would it be safe? Who knows what she would do? What she _should_ do? What should she do?

No. She would wait anyway. Because she was not a doormat and she would not let Malfoy, or anyone for that matter, walk all over her. He had done her, and all of Gryffindor, and all of the honor that Hogwarts has, he did that all wrong. And he deserved what he got. And she would, she would . . . Hermione closed her eyes and took four or five deep, slow breaths and repeated this until the pressure in the back of her throat or behind her eyes was no longer overwhelming. Calm down, she told herself over and over, just calm down. Think.

And she sat down on the couch and she stared into the fire and she thought. And thought. And thought. But no matter what she thought of, nothing seemed bad enough to do to Malfoy. He was a dirty little cheater . . . he was such a Slytherin. She hated that slime-bag.

Hermione sat and waited, in all of her shameful and angry numbness, on that couch, in that very spot, for so long that her sopping-wet hair dried and curled again and felt weird on her head. Her shirt and jeans were still soaked but she couldn't bring herself to actually get up. She wanted to be right here, waiting for him when he got back. She wanted to ruin his happiness and arrogantly good mood and celebration, she wanted to crack it and smash it into a million pieces, watch his smile recede into a grimace or one of those half-smirks, half-frowns. She wanted to put things right, and let him know what's what. She wanted to pop that little blond head of his right off that body. She wanted to jinx him until the closet thing to a smirk he could do was some bubbly-puss pop.

And then, at exactly thirty seconds before eleven thirty, the portrait door swung shut and in walked Malfoy. His blonde hair was still matted with mud, as was his Quidditch uniform. He took of his green jacket and slung it over a chair, then strutted into the common room with a smirk permanently smeared across his pallid little face.

"The bet's off."

And he swung around with his wand, and he stared at her. He then lowered his wand and crossed his arms. "What?" he drawled, as if she did not make any sense at all.

"I'd thought that I should start with that," she said simply.

"Granger, what are you talking about?" he said again. "I won–!"

"You _cheated!_" she snarled, getting to her feet.

"What–?" he said, looking at her as if she were crazy. "You, _and_ the whole school, saw me do it. I won. Potter even knows that." And he smirked that malicious little smirk.

"You stole my notebook, and you cheated," Hermione said in the lowest tone she could manage without whispering. Her voice was shaky though, as she was doing her best not to yell. She had saved these words, so that he would hear them for sure, because they would hold a lot of the power she had in winning this argument.

"What are you talking about Granger?" he said impatiently.

Hermione was confused. "What are _you_ talking about?" she said with her brow furrowed. "I saw you with it at the game, you had my notebook, and you cheated with it!"

"What–? This?" he said, pulling it out and looking at her and the notebook back and forth as if nothing was making any sense. But Hermione knew he wasn't that good of an actor.

"Malfoy stop acting like a huge twit and just admit it!" she sneered. "You stole that! It was mine! I had it at Harry's practice! And it had all of their Quidditch plans inside of it! And you stole it! And you read it! And you copied them and you CHEATED!"

Malfoy looked at her for a long time, his face still contorted with confusion. Hermione finally growled out of frustration.

"Malfoy!"

And then his lips parted, not to smirk, but as if he had just discovered something quite wonderful.

"You had this–notebook?–at Potter's Quidditch practice?" he asked, nodding his head.

"Yes!" Hermione snapped, still livid. She wanted to yell at him, but how could she when he wouldn't stop pretending he was innocent!

"And then you came back here?" he said again, as if he was reminding her.

"Where else would I go?" she spat at him.

"Granger, I didn't steel you stupid little notebook. You threw it at me."

"What are you–?" Hermione began immediately, her words tumbling over one another. But then she suddenly knew. She had come back here . . . Malfoy had been being especially arrogant and annoying . . . and she had thrown that stack of papers into his face . . . and she had been holding . . . her . . . notebook.

Her burning feeling of anger steeped and settled into guilt and embarrassment; it was her fault.

"Yes, you see?" he said suddenly. "I didn't steel anything."

But Hermione wouldn't give up that easily.

"You should have known that it was my notebook! It wasn't yours!" she shouted.

"I didn't even _know_ it _was_ a notebook," he said, looking unfazed as usual.

"You–!"

"Look at this writing, and the cover looks like something you would get at the library, and there was no name, dates, scribbling, whatever. Looks like a Quidditch book to me," he said, "and _how_ exactly was I supposed to know it was all about the lovely little Gryffindors? Nothing about them is in here, all it says is positions and techniques. Looks just like a Quidditch book for training to me, don't you think?"

Hermione lips moved but no words came out. Her chest heaved in frustration. She snatched the book from his hands and leafed through it. Damn it. He wasn't even lying.

"So," he said, sounding quite pleased, "I guess the bet, _isn't_ off, now, isn't it?"

"Malfoy, this counts as cheating," she growled.

"How?" he snapped, finally looking annoyed. "Because you were stupid and _gave _me all of Potters plans? Not my fault. Actually, that's yours."

"It still isn't fair to Harry," said Hermione. "You still cheated at the Quidditch game."

"Again, not on purpose," he drawled.

"So you're saying that if you _had_ known that the notebook was mine and about Gryffindor, you would have given it back?" she sneered, sounding very doubtful.

He shrugged. "I'll guess we'll never know."

"You–!"

"Listen, Granger," he said flatly. "It's not my fault you're pathetic and you care so much about your loser friends, or that you're always trying to vie for my attention, because you're so ugly and unattractive, none of that is _my_ fault, okay? So just start getting ready for that bet. Because it starts tomorrow; you lost."

"Malfoy, you–!" Hermione began. "_I'm_ pathetic? _Me_? Please! And yes I care about my friends, because I actually have some to care about! And _vie _for your attention! Are you mad? That is the last thing I–and you! ARGH!"

He wanted to call her pathetic? That was nothing new. He wanted to make jabs at Harry and Ron? Not exactly original material. He wanted to claim that she was madly in love and head over heels with him? That was a little out there. But he wanted to call her ugly and unattractive? She wasn't going to put up with that. She was finally at a place where she was completely comfortable with her appearance, and he wasn't going to ruin her confidence because he was a stupid little ferret.

Then Hermione had an idea. Her face relaxed, her stomach untwisted and she smirked at Malfoy.

"What's wrong with _you_?" he asked, grimacing.

"You want unpredictable, Malfoy? I'll give you unpredictable."

And with that, she turned on her heel and up to her room she went, not even slamming the door behind her, leaving Malfoy to stare in confusion.

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Monday came very quickly, Hermione found. Or maybe it was just because she was anxious? She didn't know. But, she knew one thing. Today she would show Malfoy just what's what. She would show him what unpredictable really was. Oh and how sweet it will be, she thought, as she grinned wickedly all the way over to her closet.

It only took a few flicks of her wand, and her skirts had gotten about three inches shorter, her shirts maybe just fitted her a bit better now, oh and she had definitely magicked her shoes so that they were no longer clunky and gaudy-looking, but now she would definitely need to learn how to walk in stilettoes, without her long socks. Yes, Hermione was going to bare with her bare legs. What was the harm, anyway, right? Besides, what was the point of being in such good shape if no one ever noticed?

So she dressed, and though it didn't look much like her old self, she knew she still was. She even got bold and 'unpredictable' enough to let the first three buttons of her blouse undone. There was no way she would show any full on _cleavage_, because she didn't think that would be very appropriate for school, but, it definitely showed the world how much she had actually matured, seeing as how no one had really noticed that, either.

She tied her hair back in a messy pony tail high up on her head, a few locks of her golden brown curls hung loose, framing her face. She wore no makeup, save for a little lip gloss, and she bit her lip as she looked at herself in the mirror.

_I look like Lavender_.

That was the only thing she could think of. But was it really that bad to look like her . . ? hadn't they – Lavender and Parvarti and who knows else – been making fun of her clothes for ages now? What would they say if she dressed exactly like them? What would Harry and Ron say? They probably wouldn't notice.

She was making too big a deal out of this. She was going to wear it, freak Malfoy out . . . maybe prove to him that she can be attractive. That she _is_ attractive. That she can turn heads, even his. Yes, that's right, Hermione just thought about that. But would she have the guts to do it? To actually _make_ him admit it? How would she do that anyway? Her head was nearly spinning when she realized that she should probably get down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

So she trotted down the stairs, into the common room, and was just passing by the kitchen table when Malfoy's door swung open and he emerged, preoccupied with his tie.

He obviously knew she was standing there, so he said, "You'd better be ready for that bet today Granger, because yesterday can't count, you were hold up in your damn room all the live long day."

"Er," she said. Her eyes were wide. Her face was growing warm. She wished she could run back up to her room and fix her clothes. How stupid did she actually look? He was going to laugh . . . everyone would laugh . . . Oh, Merlin, what a mistake!

Continuing as Hermione stood frozen in humiliation, he said, "So what is it that you–?"

And then he looked up from about half-way down the stairs and one foot crossed over the other, and before Hermione even had time to blink, he had flipped right over the edge of the railing-less staircase and had fallen face-first onto the couch, legs and feet dangling in the air foolishly.

Hermione snapped out of her daze. So it seemed this wasn't such a mistake after all? Restraining herself from laughing, which took some considerable effort mind you, she crossed her arms, arched an eyebrow and waltzed over to Malfoy as he scrambled to get into an upright position on the couch. His hair was completely messed up and his tie was looped around his neck.

How appropriate, Hermione thought humorously, because this _will_ be the death of you Draco Malfoy.

"You, er," he spluttered, trying to regain hopelessly lost composure by clearing his throat a repeated amount of times. "What are you–?"

"Doing?" she finished his sentence for him, though she knew that wasn't what he was about to say. "I was heading down to breakfast. Why do you ask, Malfoy?"

Her brow was still arched in that smug way as he gaped at her dumbly.

Finally, he seemed able to speak, slightly. "Right."

"But," said Hermione, looking at the clock, "it looks like you've wasted my time yet again."

And she turned and left, heading off for what was promised to be an interesting day.


	10. Of Attention and Stubbornness

**sorry again for the wait . . . but like I said, there's school and work and homework, and this weekend was a holiday weekend on top of that. so again, sorry! but thank you very much to all my reviewers, I love reading them and I appreciate every single one! and thank you for being patient with the progression of the plot and the story line, things will . . . heat up sooner than you think :) and the next chapter will hold a pleasant surprise. anyways, enjoy this chapter and as always, I'd love for you to review:)**

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Chapter ten - Of Attention and Stubbornness

Hermione made haste as she headed down to the Great Hall, still grinning foolishly. She was a little annoyed that she would only have but five minutes to eat a hurried breakfast, but she would not be discouraged so easily – the image of Malfoy falling off the stairs was still fresh in her mind. She laughed to herself as she traipsed down the stairs. She made her way into the Great Hall, stepping over the threshold.

It was dead silent the moment she had taken her third step. Everyone seemed to be gaping at her. A seventh year Hufflepuff who Hermione knew to be quite popular with the girls, wolf-whistled into the silence and whispers broke out not but a second following that.

The regular, _predictable_, Hermione would have blushed profusely and hurried out of there as soon as she could, muttering to herself of how embarrassed she was and going to change immediately. However, the _unpredictable_ Hermione did this:

She walked like nothing had happened, waved to onlookers (more like the twenty dozen students who were staring, and gaping, with wide eyes and wider mouths) and she ignored the girls' audible comments. As she walked by Lavender and Parvarti, who were staring and whispering as if she could see or hear them, she said, "Hello girls, how are you today?"

They stared as she passed them and walked further down the table. Apparently, not _everyone_ had noticed her entrance, probably because there wasn't as good of a view from this section, but on any account, Harry's head was buried in a magazine, and Ron's head was inside his cereal bowl.

As Hermione finally stood in front of them, took off her bag and placed it on the bench, Ron looked up. He spat his mouth-full of cereal onto Harry, leaving milk and flakes dripping from his open mouth.

"RON! WHAT THE F–!"

But Harry was unable to finish the crude swear word as Ron slapped the side of his head and forced his face in Hermione's direction, as well. It was the fastest Hermione had ever seen someone turn red. It was the longest someone hadn't looked at her eyes but _had_ looked at her, too.

"Morning," she said calmly, sitting down, and forcing the redness of her cheeks down and out of sight. The unpredictable Hermione would not blush.

"Bah," said Harry.

"Harry, you've got some cornflakes in your ear," Hermione pointed out, still casually. She looked at Ron, who was also a very unbecoming shade of red and said, "Morning Ron."

"Ya–you," he spluttered, still gaping.

They both sounded ridiculously like toothless old men.

Hermione looked down and buttered a piece of toast. She tossed some loose strands of hair to one side. Ron seemed to have a mild heart attack as he somehow managed to slam his hand onto the table and flip his cereal bowl into the air. The three of them watched as it flipped over and thwacked Seamus in the head. He did not even move. He was stalk still, his lips parted and his eyes wide, staring at Hermione. The bowl fell onto the floor and cracked into ten different pieces, and Seamus did not even flinch. Hermione gave him a peculiar look, arching one eyebrow, and called, "Alright, Seamus?"

He slowly came out of his daze, blinked several times, then his hand came to his forehead and he looked around curiously, "Ouch."

Some people laughed, while others continued to look at Hermione.

"Hermione," Harry said, his voice hoarse.

"Harry," Hermione said.

"You–er, morning?" he ventured. He looked so confused it almost made Hermione cry. It almost made her laugh as well, though.

"Morning," she replied politely, biting into her breakfast.

Ron cleared his throat loudly, finally seeming to recover from giving Seamus a mild concussion. "Er, 'Mione . . . how–er, how are you?"

"Fine," she said, shrugging.

There was an awkward pause.

Then Harry spoke, his voice three octaves higher than usual.

"New clothes?"

Hermione looked down, as if she hadn't remembered and said, "Oh! Yes, do you like them?" And she smoothed out the front of her newly-fitted blouse. Ron's eye twitched slightly.

"Er . . ."

And they said nothing more of her clothes.

Finally, Ron attempted to break the tense silence with come conversation.

"So, er, Hermione, I didn't get transfiguration last week at all . . . Harry and me were wondering if you could show us how you did yours?

"Sure, no problem," Hermione agreed. She was surprised with herself at how she was handling this. She didn't feel half as awkward as she thought she might, that is, until Ron spoke again.

"Thanks 'Mione, you're the breast."

Harry smacked him in the head with his magazine.

"BEST! Best! I meant best!"

And he was pitch red once more.

Thankfully, the bell rang not but three seconds after this and Hermione was excused from their presence. As she walked away, she looked back to see Harry pushing Ron out of his seat and throwing his bag at him. She shook her head. Boys.

But she wasn't completely free yet. As she made her way to Ancient Runes, she came upon a crowd of Slytherins chatting in the hallway, including Malfoy and his usual friends.

"Ooooh," she Pansy Parkinson, turning on Hermione with wide eyes and a malicious smile. "Looks like the mudblood's finally done it up for them boys of hers."

And the crowd laughed. Hermione crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. People were turning to hear and watch and see what was happening. Lots of them were focused on Hermione.

"Excuse me, Pansy, but I don't think someone such as _you_ have any right to question my actions around male students. But, I suppose, if something was to be said about the subject of promiscuity someone like you _would_ have the most to say."

And the crows laughed again.

Pansy narrowed her eyes. "You know what? – I think you've just become a little touched with jealousy. I think you've had it."

The onlookers raised their eyebrows and turned to Hermione.

"Really?" Hermione mused. "That's impressive, Pansy. I'm surprised you can think at all with all of that make-up weighing down your head."

The unpredictable Hermione then walked right on passed Pansy, steam practically rising from her ears, and down the hallway towards her first class, leaving an lasting impression in her wake.

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Muggle Studies came fast. Hermione went earlier then usual, wanting to ask Dolop if he had seen the game, and wondering if she could borrow another book. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger as she approached the door. She was also anxious to see how he would be, since during their last conversation on Friday he had addressed her by her first name, she wondered if this meant that they were really friends now.

It had been nice, hearing her name pass through his lips at last. She had thought that it would be weird, having a teacher speak her name like that, in a friendly way. But she supposed he hadn't really meant to say it . . . their visit hadn't been scheduled, after all, and she had showed up most uninvited. But still . . . it kind of triggered something in her, a thought, a feeling – something. She wasn't sure what though. _Did_ it mean they were friends now?

And then that creeping feeling, that squrimy-butterfly fluttered inside of her again, as she remembered the way their last visit had gone. She had finally noticed his looks, his good looks. But why did that matter? She had asked herself that a lot since Friday, and even with everything else that had been going on, she had still thought about it a lot.

So what, if he was good-looking? If he was handsome? If he was down right hot?

Hermione blushed even thinking those words. She knew it was inappropriate and she did not want to go there. So she would stay in the safe zone – they were friends now.

She knew they were before, but using first names, it seemed like deal had been made or something. It seemed as if they were closer. She still couldn't get the image out of her head though – Dolop wearing his glasses. She had never seen someone look so good wearing specs – except Harry, he managed to look fairly handsome while wearing his glasses.

As she entered the room, his back was towards her, cleaning off the board. Manually. Hermione grinned slightly at the word.

"Morning," she said, a little excitedly, as she approached his desk. He turned around about halfway, his head not facing her completely, his eyes barely flickering in her direction, and answered, "Morning" in a flat tone.

Hermione was taken aback by his impoliteness. Why would he not turn and address her properly . . . by her first name, perhaps?

"Er . . ." she said awkwardly, her lip trembling. She didn't understand why she felt so upset by one word, or the lack thereof. "How . . . are you?" she managed.

"Fine," he said, in the same flat, meaningless tone. He did not turn around. "You?"

"Good," Hermione answered, shifting uncomfortably where she stood. She gripped her books in her arms.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked blatantly. He was still erasing the board, but was nearly finished. Hermione didn't know what she would do when he finally turned around, and the awkwardness would fully spill out, and the confusion on her part would stand naked.

She furrowed her brow at his question though, what did he mean by it? "What?"

"Can I help you with some–?" he began, turning around. He was wearing his glasses. He dropped the eraser. "Hermione?"

"Er–?" she began. He scooped down to pick up the eraser, stood up too fast, and banged his head off of the desk. He staggered for a moment, looking light-headed. Hermione moved forward and grabbed his arm, panicking.

"You alright?" she asked frantically.

He backed away firmly. "Yes, thanks."

"Oh."

And the looked at each other for a moment. Hermione couldn't pretend that she wasn't at least happy about the fact that he had called her by her first name. Then, as if suddenly realizing something, Dolop spoke.

"Oh!" he said, startling Hermione. "You must forgive my . . . tone. I didn't know it was you."

And her heart lightened completely.

"What?" she asked, smiling. The tension seemed to lift completely off the room and she breathed easier.

"When I–well, I didn't really turn around, but I seen–er," he coughed. "You looked like–you didn't look like yourself at a quick glance."

"Oh," Hermione said. And then she suddenly realized. "Oh!"

"Yes, sorry about that, didn't mean to offend you Hermione," he said, laughing a little.

"Hermione, now, is it?" she said, as casually as she could manage. She was still smiling ridiculously wide.

He went surprisingly quiet for a moment, and she felt a little badly. His lips parted slightly, as if he were too afraid to say anything. Hermione panicked.

"I, er, I like it," she said quickly.

"Oh?" he said, clearing his throat. "You–do?"

"Yes, it's far better than 'Miss Granger'," she admitted. "Made me feel like we're strangers. And we're not."

"No, we aren't," he agreed.

"Because," Hermione said boldly. "We're friends."

And he was quiet again, but it seemed like a good type of quiet. He smiled. "Right. That we are."

And Hermione smiled brightly. She looked at his face, and not into his eyes for a moment. She couldn't but help to, though. His nose was quite cute. And his eyes were round, and wide, and green. His face was fairly shaped, and his mouth, sat perfectly between his chin and his nose. He still had his constant five o'clock shadow. It used to annoy Hermione, she used to think it made him look a little scruffy. But now, now she thought it made him look . . . look like he was just a little rough around the edges. And she liked it. _Why_ she suddenly liked it, she couldn't say. And then, for a fleeting moment, Hermione's eyes flickered down to his robes. She wondered momentarily if he had a good body. It seemed like he did, though. He had a bold chest, and a flat stomach, and broad shoulders. She didn't know where these thoughts were coming from. She supposed it was the unpredictability of herself shining a bit too brightly. She couldn't say honestly that she minded too much. But one thing was clear, he was definitely very, very, very good looking.

And then Hermione's eyes focused on his again and she noticed that neither of them were smiling any longer – just looking at each other. Hermione's lips parted slightly.

_Say something!_ Her mind screamed.

"I like your glasses."

And then the first few students filed into the room, shortly followed by the familiar ringing of the bell and Hermione flashed one last smile and turned to her desk. Malfoy looked up at her, more like glared up at her, from his seat, and looked away. She grinned. She couldn't stop seeing him falling off of the stairs, arms flailing, legs wagging, eyes wide . . . ah, what a wonder it had been. She would never forget it. Ever.

Malfoy was not pleasant that class. He wasn't pleasant any class, of course, but this was ridiculous. He constantly coughed whenever Dolop spoke, so in short, it seemed as if he was choking on his tongue for about an hour straight, he 'accidently' knocked Hermione's things onto the ground, which in turn forced her to pick them up herself, which in turn led a lot of boys' eyes in her direction, which in turn made Dolop smacked his desk repeatedly with his wand, which in turn made Hermione blush so deeply that she shrank in her seat and stayed there until the end of the class.

It appeared to Hermione, that her new look had triggered something in Parvarti and Lavender, for as soon as class ended, instead off going off in a hurry to the bathroom before lunch to primp and gloss and gossip and giggle, they hurried over to Dolop and bombarded him with questions about their lesson plan.

"Tell me again how a toaster works, Professor?" begged Lavender.

"Can you please tell me how muggles fly without magic, again, Professor Dolop?"

"How did they invent air without magic, Professor?"

"Where is Elecktri City, again, Professor? I want to visit there after I finish furthering my education."

Hermione, not feeling like she would be able to control her laugher, stood on her tippy toes, smiled broadly at him, and left. He smiled meekly, then looked at The Eyelashes and sighed.

"Well . . ."

Hermione made her way to the Great Hall. She was actually very hungry. This morning at breakfast (and she blushed at the thought of it) she had only had half a piece of toast. She supposed that Harry and Ron's reactions couldn't have been much better . . . Harry had handled it quite well, and Ron . . . well, Ron was Ron, and Hermione couldn't expect much more than that. He was an awkward, shy, funny and sweet little boy. He was like her brother in many ways. And then, there was this . . . thing that had grown for her in him. He now fancied her as much as she used to fancy him, maybe even more so, and she felt terribly about it. She had hated being with him everyday when she had fancied him, not being able to say anything in fear of refection, and not being able to stand the way he would ogle other girls. Harry understood, and he didn't make things too awkward, he actually helped a lot. But with Ron, Hermione hoped that his feelings would recede just as hers had done – she hoped that it was just a faze that all friends went through, having a thing for your best friend. Hermione wondered briefly if she would ever have a thing for Harry? Probably. But that didn't mean anything would happen. After all, he and Ginny were hopelessly in love with each other. Hermione bit her lip at the thought of being in love with Ron.

She couldn't even imagine it, really. She couldn't even imagine kissing him now. They were much too close, they were best friends, she knew his family and his parents and so did Harry . . . they were like family. But what would she do if Ron ever asked her out on date? If he ever told her how he felt? And what (and she suddenly remembered this and slowed her pace) was she going to do about the Christmas holidays, which were less then three weeks away, when she was invited to the Weasley's house for the entirety of the vacation?

Suddenly Hermione felt a firm grasp on her forearm, and she quickly found herself in an empty classroom, her wand drawn, her chest heaving as she breathed laboriously and turned around frantically .

"Malfoy! What the hell–?"

But she was stopped as he put his finger to her mouth and grabbed her, his arm wrapped around her back and his hand resting on her hip.

"Shut up," he growled.

Hermione was frozen, and her wand was loosely held in her right hand. He released her and pushed her away.

"Now," he continued. "You can't–"

"I'm going to stop you right there, Malfoy," she snapped, coming out of her daze of confusion. "I can bloody well do anything I please."

"Granger," he said, turning to her. "I'm trying to explain something to you, if you can shut up for two bloody seconds?"

"Oh yes! How could I have been so rude!" she shouted indignantly. "You only grabbed me and pulled me into an abandoned classroom like a _snake _with no warning, intending to do Merlin knows what! Why on earth should I be upset?"

Malfoy smirked. "'Merlin knows what' eh?" he repeated, looking mildly interested. He slunk towards her slowly. "You can't keep playing this game."

His voice was low. Hermione didn't play dumb, she wanted to get out of here fast. She was very hungry, and tired of dealing with his antics.

"Game," she repeated, not as a question. "You only don't want me to play because it's your game."

Malfoy looked at her for a moment. "What–?"

"Don't even, Malfoy," she scoffed. "This is your game. You don't like that I'm good at it, either. You're the one who goes around, using your good looks to get what you want from everyone, leaning on them, _seducing_ them, threatening and intimidating them. I can do it, too, as you can plainly see. And you know what, look how easy it is? Seems as if your . . . power over other people is not something to be so proud of, after all. So you can just sod off, because I'm winning. Get over it."

There was only a moments' silence before Malfoy spoke again.

"My good looks eh?" he repeated.

"What?" Hermione said blankly.

"You think I look good, do you then?" he said with a malicious smirk.

"You–!"

"It's okay, Granger, I knew you wanted me as soon as you set your eyes on me this year, as soon as you were told you would be living with me, I could tell. And then, you go and dress up . . . just for me? Now see it like me. Do you get it? Just because you're hot doesn't mean you get to trot around and–"

"_Hot?_" Hermione blurted, taken aback. Her whole body flushed.

Malfoy opened his mouth, then paled considerably more than usual.

"Mhm," she said, nodding her head. She raised her wand, touched the tip to his jaw line, and then traced it all the way to his chin and smirked.

"See you."

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Malfoy was furious. He had never been so humiliated in his entire life. Admitting a mudblood was hot! How did he ever manage to stoop so low! What was wrong with him!

He kicked over the chair in his bedroom and sat down on his bed, running his fingers through his white-blonde hair. What the hell was he going to do? He had to show her that he was just playing, just playing and that was it. But how?

Well, he thought carefully, they had been doing this back and forth for a while now. He had to stop being so surprised when she advanced on him like she did. It was definitely disgusting, but he had to stop looking so shocked, because that only gave her the upper hand. And the Malfoy always had the upper hand. He would be no disgrace to him family.

He stood, walked over to his window, and looked out into the black skies. This week was going to be a tough one. At least the holidays were only three weeks away. And then he could be away from the mudblood, come back and resume their hatred instead of all of this . . . other stuff. He shuddered.

He looked towards the bathroom door. He sighed irefully. What was he getting himself into?


	11. Of Dread and War

**hey again, it took me a little while to decide where to steer the story from here, but I think I found some good turning points. anyway, sorry if it took a little long, I'm not sure when I posted the last chapter .. but I already know what the next couple of chapters will be about so the wait shouldn't be that long. Please Review! And thanks for reading :)**

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Chapter eleven - Of Dread and War

The morning had seemingly blurred passed him, and he felt muddled and dazed as he looked around the deserted corridors. He couldn't even remember teaching his sixth year class this morning, and everything seemed to be going by in spurts of slow and fast. The sky outside was dreary and bleak, and sunny all at once. His stomach wouldn't stop tying itself in knots, and his heart fluttered uncomfortably inside of his chest, making him shift from one foot to the other. As he entered the classroom, he smiled widely and nervously up at the front of the room, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him.

Hermione was standing by his desk –and he didn't fail to notice that she was still choosing to show off her new wardrobe– with red-covered book that he had lent her. He loved that book, it was quite time-consuming. But it was no surprise that she had managed to finish it in two days in-between classes and homework and Head's duties and rounds and fighting with Mister Malfoy . . .

His hatred for the blonde boy had somehow become obvious over the course of the last three weeks. He disproved of the way he treated his friend, Hermione, and how he made her life so difficult. He did not like the way Malfoy would not raise his hand to answer any questions in class, though he was aware that Malfoy definitely knew the answer. He did not like the way he glared at him when he spoke and looked around the room. Why did Malfoy dislike him so much in the first place? That was the main reason that had motivated his return of the mutual feelings, after all. And then there was Hermione . . .

He approached Hermione with smile.

"Morning," he managed to say, though it seemed to take forever to get the words out of his mouth. And his feet wouldn't move properly. What was wrong with him?

Hermione tilted her head to the right and smiled than shook her head. She held out the book, and as Dolop reached to get it, his hand fell over top of hers. She didn't pull away. She actually moved closer to him, only by one step. Dolop froze where he stood.

"How–how are you?" he asked her. He had suddenly gained an overwhelmingly unhealthy interest in the hem of her skirt. He looked away, growing warm.

"I'm good," she answered. Her voice seemed far off, though she stood five inches in front of him. His hand appeared to have gone numb from her touch. He didn't move it. His mind seemed oddly out of place . . . working slower than usual. He could barely take his eyes off of hers, but he managed to tear them away as he thought of words to speak. He couldn't seem to function in her presence. Something jumped inside his stomach as she played with her hair.

"That's good," he spluttered as a reply.

Then the bell rang. How he _hated_ that bell. It always interrupted them. He wished he could smash it up . . . yell at it and tell it to go away . . . tell the other students all to be late for a day, just so he and Hermione could talk some more.

As Hermione moved away, towards her seat, her hand slid slowly away from his as he gripped the book. He turned and placed it on his desk, his heart hammering, and sighed. He turned around to see Hermione and Malfoy glaring at each other. He stared at Malfoy and urged him, willed him, to burst into flames. However, Hermione sat down, at the farthest edge of the table, and began ignoring him. Malfoy wouldn't stop glaring at her, though, and Dolop did not approve of that.

The lesson began as usual, or as unusually. It was an odd sort of day, and everything seemed to still be going in spurts of extremely slow and super fast. Dolop shook his head to clear it as he spoke, his words tumbling over one another. He could only seem to catch the clear faces in the front – Hermione and Malfoy. Everyone else seemed to be oddly out of focus. All he could see was Malfoy continuously glaring at Hermione, as she smiled up at him, listening to his lesson for the day. He wondered whether or not she would come to the front of the room and speak to him after the class ended . . .

Finally, he seemed to be done speaking. The students were all looking down into their books, writing furiously so they would have no homework for the night – everyone except one. Hermione was staring up at him, smiling brightly. She seemed to glow she was so beautiful.

_Wait, I can't think about that._

But she is.

_But that's not for me to judge. _

But she is.

_Shut up!_

He smiled back at her and ignored the little voice called his conscience, his stomach bubbling with something warm. His whole body seemed to flush as she kept smiling at him, and did not turn away. What was with her today? Every other time, she would flash a quick smile, and then look away. But he didn't mind her smile. It was beautiful.

_Stop thinking about that!_

He ignored this voice again, and put down the papers he was holding. He took off his glasses – he hadn't even been aware that he was wearing them – and he rounded the desk.

Malfoy glared at Hermione again, looking up from his book. His face was awfully bulging and prominent this morning, the paleness of it seemed to even glow as Dolop looked at him. Hermione's face was as warm and friendly as ever, of course. Hermione ignored Malfoy's glares, staring at Dolop as he walked towards her. He finally reached her desk.

"Do you need help with something?" he asked her, and his voice was slow and slurred and vague once again. Her smile seemed to make him shake with nervousness and anxiety, it seemed to make him sweat, it seemed to dry out his mouth and throat.

"Yes," she answered wearily. She did not stop looking at him. Her smile was sheepish and her eyes were wide and a beautiful honey-brown. She tilted her chin upward. "I need your help."

"Oh," was all he could managed to say with his dry throat and shaky lips. He licked them and swallowed hard. "I think I can help."

Their voices had roused the rest of the class from their quiet, continuous period of scribbling; one by one heads were lifting in their direction, watching and observing with a mild interest. But Hermione and Dolop could nor see or hear them, all they could see was each other.

And then Dolop cupped her face in his hands, leaned down, and captured her lips with his own. The class around them gasped and his heart was beating madly against his Adam's apple. He grinned against her mouth as he felt the pressure of her lips collapse onto his and she returned the kiss fervently and passionately . . .

His mind seemed to wash away as the feel of her lips took him over.

Dolop sat bolt right up, the sweat from his brow dripping and sliding down his reddened face. His legs were twisted and fighting with the blue fabric, that seemed to wrap around and around again and again . . . With shaky hands, he unwound the itchy blankets and heaved a shuddering sigh.

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The end of November came as no surprise to the teachers and students of Hogwarts, as the month had been dragged on continuously with work and homework, and for Hermione, Head's duties, arguments and taunting games with Malfoy, and longer and longer chat sessions spent in Dolop's office. Ever since the beginning of the month they had started spending time together as she and Harry and Ron would . . . or used to. She liked how they could be close friends and discuss everything. She found it actually kind of odd that she could sometimes even tell him things that she wouldn't feel comfortable saying to Harry or Ron . . . or even Ginny. But she had felt bad about being off in her own world, and away from Ron and Harry for nearly three weeks, as that was why she had been getting annoyed with them just a month or so prior. So after dinner, she agreed to study with them in the library. And as Hermione looked over her notes in the library with Harry and Ron, she realized that even she was getting a lot of homework.

"If _you_ can't handle it, how're we gonna? That really scares me . . ." said Ron gravely, paling as he ran through his list of homework and kept his eyes on his page. He was trying not to look at her as much, and Hermione could tell. But she could also tell that it took a lot of effort.

Hermione had given a lot of thought to their situation and had come to the inevitable conclusion that she should just go on like before, because they were still best friends, and Ron would get over her. He would. He had to. After all, she had gotten over him quite quickly, considering they still spent enormous amounts of time together. She was, however, still feeling guilty over the fact that he did not seem to realize that she no longer had the same type of feelings as he did.

But she was going on quite well, as she and Ron had not had any more awkward moments since he had first spotted her new clothes, and she was intending to keep it that way, although, she still caught him staring every once in a while. One mortifying moment, she had even caught Harry looking at her. But, as it was, she could not see a reason not to go to the Burrow for the holidays – not that she had announced it to Ron and Harry yet that she would go. She wanted to keep her options open.

"I can _handle_ it, Ron," Hermione corrected him, "I just noticed that it's a lot of work. A lot more than usual, that's all."

"Oh, that's all, is it?" Ron snorted. There were at least ten books piled in front of him, and likely thirty entire feet of parchment. "I know it's seventh year and all . . . and I knew it was goin' to be hard . . . but I've had seventeen essays in two weeks! That's more than two a day!"

"Alright. Now, how many have you actually written?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrow.

"Okay, whatever, that still doesn't change the fact the teachers are still handing them out. Are they crazy or what?" he went on, ignoring Hermione's stern looks. He looked to Harry for some support.

"Ron's right, Hermione," Harry interjected. "I mean, we've got like twenty essays, and plus other assignments and now we're up to at least two spells to practice a night. Sometimes three or four with both Flitwick and McGonnagal in the same day. And then there's Snape."

"I guess," Hermione said grudgingly. "But if you didn't spend so much time with Quidditch–"

"We do alright!" protested Ron indignantly. Honestly compelled him to continue. "Well, Harry does. And he does more Quidditch than me!"

"At least you're honest," Hermione granted. "That's a good change."

Ron beamed at Hermione's compliment.

Hermione hastened to change the subject.

"Where's Ginny? – I never see her anymore," Hermione said.

"Oh well, she's been 'round with that Hufflepuff bloke," Ron said darkly. "Shifty-lookin' guy too, steals from people."

"He borrowed your quill, Ron," Harry said, to answer Hermione's disbelieving expression. "And he gave it back ten seconds later."

"Yeah well, he's still a little smart ah–"

"Ron!" scolded Hermione.

"Well! I don't like him!" protested Ron. "And neither do you Harry, don't lie!"

"Of course Harry doesn't like him," Hermione agreed absent-mindedly. She looked up to find Harry glaring at her through his glasses. Ron was looking smug. "Well, I mean–!" Hermione struggled to say something else. "–why would he?"

"Right," said Ron. "It would have nothin' to do with the fact that he fancies her?"

"Ron, what business is that of ours?" Hermione said right away, defending Harry. She did not want to pursue the topic of people fancying other people.

"Mhm," Ron agreed, still smirking.

Harry was saved from the burden of speaking as a fourth year boy approached their table. He was fairly tall for his age, and had dirty blonde hair. Hermione recognized him as the boy she had had to give detention to once for snogging a girl in the astronomy tower after curfew. His brow was raised and he looked awfully arrogant as he eyed Hermione rudely.

"Hermione Granger?" he said, his mouth twitching into an odd smile.

"Yes?" Hermione said politely. Ron glared at the boy. His eyes were definitely not on Hermione's eyes.

"Er, got a note for you," he said, holding out a rolled up piece of parchment.

"She doesn't want to read any stupid notes from your pathetic and desperate friends, thanks," spat Ron, and he shoved him away.

"Ron!" Hermione said, she turned to the boy again. "Who is it from?" she asked. Ron was right to be rude, though, because she was getting very tired of this boy. She had also gotten other notes like this, from people she didn't know, asking her out. It made her blush, but she took it in stride.

"Professor Dumbledore," he said, sounding very impressed with himself. Hermione could see a group of his friends at another table watching.

"The Headmaster?" Hermione asking, standing up and taking the note.

"Mhm," he said, nodding his head. "Said to get it to you and the Head Boy right away."

"Malfoy?" Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes. "What's he done now?" she grumbled, breaking the wax seal on the parchment.

"What's it say?" Harry asked, as Hermione unrolled the parchment.

"Nothing, just to go meet him at seven tonight," said Hermione, her eyes scanning the page.

"Well that's in ten minutes," Ron pointed out.

"It is?" she said, frantically gathering her things. "Well, I'll see the two of you tomorrow, then."

"Bye," they said, as she hurried off, watching as the blonde boy returned to his friends smiling and laughing. She shook her head as she hurried out of the library and into the corridors.

She wondered why she and Malfoy had to go and see Dumbledore. She hadn't spoken to him since the beginning of term, when he had congratulated them on their Head Girl and Boyship. She slowed her quick pace. Maybe it was about their fighting. Or maybe it was about the other stuff. But how would he know? Or maybe it was about her clothes? She never should of accepted the stupid dare! Who was she kidding, trying to make Malfoy admit he was attracted to her! What did it matter! It was _Malfoy_! His opinion didn't matter to her at all. He didn't matter to her at all. So what if he was good looking and could make her blush–? Wait, he couldn't. He can't. He's Malfoy.

Hermione shook her head, trying to spill out the confusing thoughts as she approached the familiar gargoyle. She looked down at the parchment and back up to the gargoyle and said, "Raspberry Ripples." As the gargoyle leapt aside, and the stairs become visible, Hermione stepped forward, only to be held back by two strong hands on her shoulders.

"You weren't going to wait for me?" he voiced whispered huskily into her right ear. Goosebumps arose on her neck and arm as she pulled away and turned around.

"Why would I?" she snapped bitterly. She was not in the mood for this today, as she was already worried that she was about to lose her Head Girlship over this stupid stuff.

"My, my, my. _Someone's_ in a gwumpy mood today," he said in a mock baby tone. Hermione scoffed and turned on her heel up the stairs. Malfoy followed closely behind.

Hermione reached up to knock on the door, but Malfoy's hand covered her wrist and he pulled her into him from behind.

"Not in the mood to play?" he said, once again whispering into her ear. She hated when he did that, it made the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

She turned around, nose to nose with him, and said, "Not with you."

Hermione pushed him away and knocked quickly three times on the door.

"Come in," called an old, warm and friendly voice. Hermione now doubted that they were in any sort of trouble, if they were, he was more like to say, "Enter" in a plain voice. He was addressing them with familiarity and kindness, and Hermione could not see him being angry today.

"Good evening Professor Dumbledore," Hermione greeted politely.

He inclined his head and smiled, and then turned to Malfoy and inclined his head to his wordless greeting.

"How nice to see the two of you tonight," he said, touching his finger tips together as his elbows rested on his desktop. "How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks," replied Hermione.

"I'm good, Professor," Malfoy answered stiffly.

"Wonderful," he replied. "Now, I have some Head's business to discuss with the two of you tonight. Hope I didn't interrupt anything important by calling you here tonight.

"Well, as you can tell, the month of November has finally come to a quiet and windy close, leaving Hogwarts with shorter days, colder nights, and the promise of Christmas but three weeks ahead of us. I have been thinking, that maybe, as one of our most recognized classes will be graduating this year, that we shall make it one to remember, yes?

Now, with Christmas so close, and the holidays coming just shortly behind that, I thought to myself, what better to do that to have a nice Christmas Ball to send off our students with happy memories and good times behind them? So, obviously, I have called the two of you here tonight because I would like you two plan this Ball, so that it will go as smoothly and as perfectly as Hogwarts can expect. And, after all, who better to plan it then the two brightest students to have walked through these school doors, eh?"

He looked at them for a moment, with his warm smile etched onto his gracefully wrinkling face, until Hermione cleared her throat.

"That sounds wonderful, Professor!" she said honestly. She thought that the idea of a Ball would be very fun indeed.

"Sounds good," Malfoy said simply.

"Of course, it will be formal, as Christmas tends to be such a formal occasion. And, there will be dancing, so . . . I think we will have a pair lead us in the first dance. How about the two of you?"

And suddenly, the wonderful idea of a Ball came crashing down on Hermione's head.

"You want us to dance?" squeaked Malfoy, in a very un-Malfoy-ish voice.

"In front of everyone?" Hermione asked in shock.

"With each other?" Malfoy cried in horror.

Dumbledore merely smiled and nodded his head slowly. Hermione and Malfoy turned to each other slowly with wide eyes. This presented itself as a very difficult task indeed. All Hermione could think of was what Ron was going to say when he found out he was going to have to watch her dance with Malfoy in front of the entire school. Beside her, all Malfoy could think of was what he might wear.

"But, on any account, I would like all of the preparations, planning – everything – to be done by the twentieth, so we have time. You must work together, mind you, and I will know if you don't, of course, so it's not like you would try anything tricky, right? So, that is all – happy planning."

And with that Hermione and Malfoy were walking down the corridor again in a slow silence that seemed to consume them both.


	12. Of the Spoken and the Unspoken

**I wasn't going to upate this fast, just so it wouldn't be such a long wait until chapter thirteen .. but I thought was unfair seeing how it would just sit here, finished and unread. So! The next chapter might take until about a week and a half from now, as a fair warning haha. **

**This is an important chapter, and it took me a long, long time to decide how to do the ending, because I was going to leave something out, but I thought that, its the twelfth chapter, and you deserve somthing interesting. So, please review, and enjoy! **

**p.s, sorry to all the readers who felt they had to wait too long for a chapter like this ! I didn't mean to frustrate you, just wanted to take the plot along at a believable pace :)**

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Chapter twelve - Of the Spoken and the Unspoken

"I know I complain about him a lot, so just tell me to 'shut up' if you've had enough, okay?"

Dolop looked at Hermione in bewilderment. "I would never tell you to 'shut up'."

Hermione laughed. "That's my point. You wouldn't. But I know you must get sick of me sitting here, complaining about Malfoy all the time, right?"

Hermione had come to see Professor Dolop in his classroom after lessons were through on Wednesday evening, so they were sitting in the classroom, for a change, and Hermione was sitting on top of her desk as Dolop was leaning on his own desk, with some papers in his hands.

"You don't talk about him all the time," Dolop corrected her. Then he smiled and looked up from the page he was preoccupied with. "Just when he does things that upset you."

"Oh very funny," said Hermione, rolling her eyes.

"I'm sorry, go on," he said. Hermione gave him a stern look. "Seriously."

"Okay . . ." she said grudgingly, smiling slightly at him as she paused, "Dumbledore called us into his office last night, right," she continued. "And he wants us to plan a Christmas Ball before the holidays start."

"Oh?" said Dolop. A Ball. This thought intrigued him, as it would probably require Hermione to get very dressed up. He wondered what color her dress would be, and he wondered how late this ball would run until, he wondered whether or not he and Hermione would just happen to have rounds together at the end of the night, he wondered if he might stay late and help her clear up, he wondered whether or not it would be so excited and busy and crowded that night, that if two people were to go missing from the room, anyone would notice, and he wondered. . . then he stopped wondering, because it was wrong to wonder about those things. About Hermione. He cleared his throat, realizing he had been staring blankly at his papers for more than a moment. "And?"

"He wants us to dance together!" said Hermione, her eyes wide. She looked absolutely distressed, and Dolop couldn't say this bothered him. The more she hated Malfoy, the more she talked about how she hated him, and the longer he was here to sit and listen and help. But this dancing business irked him immediately.

"What?" said Dolop in shock. How was it, that Malfoy, the person who treats Hermione like trash, who talks to her like she's worthless and who calls her a mudblood every day – how is it that _he_ is the one who gets to dance with Hermione? Gets to live with her? Gets to be the same age as her and spend almost all his time with her? Some people are so undeserving.

"Yes. I bet he can't even dance that well, either," she sighed, letting her chin fall into her hand. It seemed that she had already fallen through the stages of denial and anger and was now settling in depression and acceptance. "He'll be throwing me around the room like a bag of bricks."

"You could always see if he can disco," suggested Dolop, with a raised eyebrow and a slight shrug. Hermione laughed immediately upon this joke.

"You're crazy," she observed. "_Disco_."

"You never know," said Dolop, gesturing in front of him with his forefinger pointed outward and imitating a poor disco dance move.

"Do you _want_ to see me killed?" said Hermione. "The only thing I like about disco is the disco balls, they're awfully pretty."

Dolop laughed. "Well, okay then, you think about that. But you still have to dance with him. That's not going to go away."

"I know!" said Hermione. "I don't know what to do, really. Because lately, he's been playing these little tricks, trying to win and everything, but I won't let him! And in front of the entire school, _dancing_? Oh, Merlin . . ."

"Tricks? Winning?" repeated Dolop in confusion. "What's this now?"

"Oh, well, you know, we fight. But lately, we've been playing this little game like . . . well, whatever, neither of us will admit when we're doing it, and we both pretend like it doesn't bother either of us, when really . . . well, it does," said Hermione. She was being quite vague and unspecific on purpose, of course, because she knew for a fact that Dolop would not approve of the bet she had accepted, the reason she had changed her clothes, or the way she had been acting around Malfoy lately. But the way she figured it, she was only pretending. And she was quite aware of the situation whenever something began. Like in the carriage on the way to Hogsmade, she knew the entire time what she was doing, and she stopped it just as she wanted to. She was in control when she wanted to be.

She figured that pretending to be attracted to Malfoy was worth it if it kept him at bay. She didn't want to go back to their regular arguments, as that mainly was exhausting and often mad her quite frustrated, so frustrated she nearly cried. Besides, she could stop this stupid war of attraction and seduction whenever she wanted. But it was fun to see Malfoy squirm for a change.

But . . . and Hermione had no idea that this thought had even dwelled in the very back of her mind . . . did he not admit that she was 'hot'? But that was just her clothes, just the fact that she was trying now. She was _trying_ to make him admit that he was attracted to her. But had she not succeeded? Why was she still dressing up?

Snapping out of her reverie, she said, "It's just stupid Malfoy-and-me stuff. You know."

"Thanks for clearing that up," he said. "Now what–?"

"Oh! And you should see him, waltzing around like he's the greatest all day! I mean, come on! Malfoy is such a little arrogant ferret!" Hermione interrupted him in hopes that he would no longer pursue the subject. Any mention of Malfoy being a ferret usually got them onto a new topic, any how.

Dolop laughed.

"Professor?" said Hermione suddenly, realizing something.

The use of this word pulled Dolop a little closer to reality. "Hm?"

"Why is it that you never tell me _not_ to talk about Malfoy like . . . like the way I do?" she asked him, tilting her head to the side.

"How do you mean?" he asked. A flash of a warm smile in the back of his mind, a short walk to a desk, and he felt a little perspiration forming above his brow.

"Well, no other teachers would allow me to," she stated simply.

"But I thought we had already –?"

"Yes, oh, yes, I know that we're friends, but I mean, you're a teacher at the same time aren't you?" she went on. This is something that had lain in the back of her mind for some time now.

"Well," he paused. "Inside the classroom, we're teacher and student, I s'pose. It's kind of like if you see your teachers over summer time. They're not _technically_ your teacher."

"Yes," Hermione said slowly. "So you mean to say, that you're not my teacher outside of our lessons?"

"Sort of," he said, nodding a little bit. "I mean, I call you 'Hermione' outside of lessons."

"But I still call you 'Professor'," she interjected. Dolop recognized her quiet observation as a deeper, more significant thought, as he could hear the eagerness in her tone as she spoke.

Dolop chuckled slightly. "Yes. Well, I guess, it might be okay, since I call you by _your_ first name . . ." and he paused again, considering. He had wondered what it would be like to be on a first name basis with Hermione for a while now. Well, as a two-way street.

"What do you mean–?" Hermione said, furrowing her brow. Then her eyes lit up slightly. "I can –!"

He laughed again, slightly aspiring to hide his eagerness, and slightly excited himself that she deemed the topic worthy of a fuss. "I s'pose so."

"Really?" she asked, smiling. He nodded. "Okay, so what's–?"

"Michael." It was more painless than he thought, introducing his first name to her, though they had known each other for three months now. It wasn't as awkward as he had imagined. Not that he had imagined it or anything . . .

And she tilted her head to the side and smiled warmly. "You look like a 'Michael'."

He would have given anything to have said not one word, to just sit there and to have watched her smile at him, but he cleared his throat. "What is a 'Michael' supposed to look like, exactly?"

She laughed.

"But," he said suddenly. "You know, that you can't, er . . . go 'round–"

"Oh, I know, don't worry," said Hermione with a lop-sided smile. "You think I'd live one more day if I announced to the other girls that I know your first name?"

"What do you–?"

"They'd trample me!" said Hermione, smiling slightly as his naiveness. "Well, no, first, they'd ask me why and how I knew, then they'd do away with me."

"Be serious Hermione," reasoned Dolop.

"I am being serious!" said Hermione stubbornly. What had been annoying her for weeks now was ready to pour out. "You should hear the way they all talk about you! Even my friend! They'll be talking about your 'amazing intelligence' at breakfast, or your 'brilliant lessons' in the loos while they put on makeup for _you_ to notice, and then at lunch, in the library, in the common rooms, in the hallways – basically whenever – they'll be talking about your 'incredible and unbelievable good looks and charm'!"

She had been thinking about this for a while now. She was sick of how all the girls fawned over him. He was a person, he was her friend, and . . . he couldn't possibly like it? Right?

"My 'good looks and charm'?" he repeated dumbly, looking at her with a furrowed brow as if he didn't recognize the words she had spoken.

"Well–yes," said Hermione before she thought about it, and then she realized what she was admitting. "Well, er, I mean, they talk about it . . ." she mumbled under his gaze.

"They, er, do, do they?" he said uncomfortably.

"Well, I mean," said Hermione absent-mindedly, looking to the upper right corner of the room and shrugging. "They're not wrong, of course, but, how annoying is it to have them running around like – well, you named those girls 'The Eyelashes', didn't you? You know what I'm talking about, right?"

Dolop couldn't thinking straight for a moment; all he could think about was the fact that Hermione had just confirmed that she agreed with the things said about him by the other girls.

"Michael?"

His head snapped up at her imploring eyes, and something moved him inside at the sound of her voice wrapped around his name.

"Yes, er, very annoying indeed," he said, trying to recover. He leafed through his stack of papers and cleared his throat. "I hate it."

"You're very convincing," she said sarcastically. Though in her mind, she wondered why she was practically begging for him to say that he didn't like all the attention from the other female students, she ploughed on. She couldn't stop staring at him. Ever since the night she had come into his office uninvited; ever since he had first called her by her name, she couldn't stop thinking about how hot he actually was. He had the PERFECT face. His eyes were so . . . green and entrancing . . . every time he looked at her straight on she had to suppress a blush. And that embarrassed her even further, because he was a Professor! But, and this was a new thought to stare at the ceiling over, now she could call him by his first name. But would that make this situation more complicated and awkward? Worse yet, she was beginning to fear that she was starting to fancy him.

It wasn't the biggest fear ever, but it was bad. But . . . and she hated herself for thinking this . . . he was so sweet, and understanding, and smart, and gorgeous – how could she not fancy him? How could he sit there and expect her to be just a student? Was he that thick? She wished she could just say something. Say it aloud. Tell him that he was perfect and that she wished she could–

"Er, Hermione, it's getting late," he said, breaking the short silence. "Once again."

Hermione laughed nervously. "Right, er, I should go."

He stood and walked in unison with Hermione to the door at the back of the room. As he reached for the doorknob, Hermione did also. Her hand fell over his and they both blushed. He looked at her, smiling awkwardly.

"Sorry," she said, removing her hand.

"S'okay," he breathed. He opened the door. "Night."

"Night."

And as she walked away, she half-turned and smiled at him before she rounded the corner and headed off towards her dorm.

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"Granger!" said Malfoy, snapping his fingers in front of her. "Stop staring into nowhere and let's get moving!"

"Okay," Hermione said vaguely, turning to face him better. She couldn't stop thinking. And thinking. And thinking. She was angry with herself, for letting this stupid crush form right inside of her. This is something she had been against since the first time Ginny and squealed his name. And she still knew it was wrong. And yet, there it was, a crush. But she was going to stop it right now. She was going to prove to herself that she was _letting_ herself think these things. She knew that it was nothing more than pushing herself to think about him. If she picked out another guy she wished to grow feelings for, she could do it; she could do anything.

Worse yet, she was angry with Michael for being so stupid and befriending her the way he had. Now she was stuck with this crush and he wasn't helping one bit by giving her his first name! She felt so childish and stupid and . . . she just felt so unlike herself when she thought about him. And, though it kind of made her frown, she needed to help herself forget about it straight away, before he found out about her feelings.

Hermione was both surprised and disappointed of that fact that her feelings and thoughts could change so fast.

"Okay, so," said Hermione, releasing her stressful thoughts for the time-being. "Decorations–"

"I know!" said Malfoy excitedly. "Let's just take pictures of me, enlarge them with some spells – you obviously know how to do that – and we'll pin them up all around the ballroom. How's that for decoration?"

Hermione gaped at him, her quill dripping large amounts of ink onto her otherwise clean parchment. She broke out laughing. "Oh Merlin, you got me Malfoy, I'll admit that much."

"I'm serious," he said, looking affronted.

Hermione stared at him again. "No. No one will come. We're supposed to plan a successful Ball."

Malfoy's mouth dropped open, looking livid. "Fine! Let's hear your _brilliant_ ideas!"

"We have to make it perfect remember!" she pressed. "So let's get this done! Now, and then we'll have lots and lots of time to make sure there are no mistakes!" she said excitedly, turning around to grab some more papers that she had written on.

"Whoopee," said Malfoy very sarcastically, as Hermione's back was turned, throwing his arms up in fake excitement.

"Isn't this fun?" she said, looking quite hyper.

"Oh, thrilling. I'm having the time of my life," he said, rolling his eyes so obviously they could have popped right from his skull.

"Come on, Malfoy, this is our last year at Hogwarts–!"

"–Thank Merlin–"

"–and it has to be perfect! So you're going to have to work harder!"

"Well, like I said before, 'let's see your brilliant ideas'!" he huffed.

"Well," said Hermione, grabbing some parchment off of the table. "I was thinking, we'll have a dance floor and a stage set up in the farther side of the ballroom, and I was also thinking that we should get these vintage disco balls, lots of them, you know, and put some levitation spells on them, so they reflect the light and–"

"Diska-whats-its, now?" said Malfoy. "When did you have the time do all of this?"

"Er . . . just something I was thinking about," mumbled Hermione.

"Whatever," sighed Malfoy. "What else?"

"Oh, well, the disco balls – they're actually quite entertaining and interesting too, I'll show you one later on – they'll be floating around. And then there'll be tables, we'll have to check how many we'll need once we've decided which grades are allowed too, and we need to find a decent band, one that everyone will like, and then we'll need advertisements – we should probably leave that up to the Prefects, maybe tell them to get some third and fourth years to make posters and whatnot? – and also–"

"Breathe, Granger!" said Malfoy suddenly. "You're turning blue."

Hermione took a deep breath and smiled. "What do you think?"

It was clear to Malfoy that Hermione was quite excited about planning this ball and it annoyed it to a great extent. "It's . . . I dunno, this is girl stuff! How am I supposed to know what to do?"

"Well, how about this – you take care of the music, the band and all of that," said Hermione, running down the list. "You can find someone to be in charge of food. And you can go and find at least five teachers to chaperone the Ball. Okay?"

"Fine," said Malfoy. "But if I'm doing all of that, what're_ you_ doing?"

Hermione missed the undertone of his voice, and went on as if he was asking a legit ament question. "Me? Oh, well, I've got to talk to McGonnagal about the times schedule, because it conflicts with curfews, I've got to get a decorating committee together and also, I've got to make the schedules for the Prefects to do rounds at the Ball, and I have to see what Dumbledore is willing to pay for music, so you know where to look for the bands. I've got to arrange for the whole advertisement thing, and I also wanted to see whether or not we can have those fairy things – the ones that light up, you know? I never learned the exact species name – floating around. But I want the blue and white ones only, because those with the disco balls will give the room a really nice wintery look. Oh! And I also wanted to have some of that snow – the kind that falls sometimes in the Great Hall? – I wanted some of that there."

Hermione looked up from her page, still smiling.

"Right," said Malfoy. "Well then. You get on that."

"Oh, I almost forgot–!"

"–God forbid–"

"–about us!" said Hermione, not hearing Malfoy's comment.

"What?" he said in a hoarse voice. "Us?"

"Our dance!" said Hermione quickly, flushing.

"Oh," said Malfoy, sinking back into his seat and relaxing the grip on the arms of the chair. "I don't know why we have to talk about that. We just have to twirl around the dance floor a few times and that'll be the end of it," he paused, and smirked. "Assuming Weasely doesn't have a fit, of course."

"Malfoy," Hermione scolded, his annoying jabs were causing her frustration to boil over. She was willing to take it out on him.

"What? – if he goes on some rampage with a plastic fork, I'm not gonna be the one–!"

"Malfoy!" said Hermione. "Stop being so ridiculous!"

"But you never know, Weasley's one dangerous poor piece of –"

"Stop talking about him like that!" snapped Hermione, getting frustrated.

"You'll have to tell him, tell him that it wasn't my choice," Malfoy continued, "'cause if we get into it, you'll know how he'll come out–!"

"I said _stop_!" she said in a raised voice.

"But if he–!"

"HE WON'T!"

"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT HE–!"

"SHUT UP!"

"I DON'T WANNA GET FORKED BY WEASLEY!"

"I'LL FORK YOU IF YOU DON'T SHUT IT!" Hermione threatened.

"CAN'T YOU CONTROL HIM?"

"HE WON'T EVEN DO ANYTHING, YOU'RE BEING STUPID!"

"JUST DO IT!"

"WHY– HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THAT?!"

"HE'S _YOUR_ BOYFRIEND!" shouted Malfoy.

"IN LIKE A MILLION YEARS MAYBE!" Hermione shouted, without realizing what she was saying.

"What?" said Malfoy dumbly. "I though the two of you were like Potter's little cheerleaders, holding hands there in the background, all happy-go-lucky?"

Hermione glared at him and snorted. "Yeah, well, wrong weren't ya?" She felt slightly better after being able to yell, but the anger still sat inside of her, just waiting.

"Mee-owww," said Malfoy, clawing out in front of him with a smirk.

"Oh just sod off, okay?" said Hermione. And then, some how, a smile cracked the corners of her mouth. "Ron's not going to fork you if you don't like it."

"Hey, I'm just lookin' out for myself," said Malfoy, leaning back and shrugging. "Gotta protect the money-maker." And he gestured to his face in general.

Hermione leaned down into her papers and mumbled to herself, "Yeah, if it's at a freak-show maybe."

"What?" he snapped.

"Nothing, nothing," Hermione said, shaking her head innocently. "Now, as I was saying," she went on, straightening up. "This dance."

"What about it?" he snapped, looking uncomfortable.

"Well, can you?"

"Can I – can I _what_?" he said out of frustration.

"_Dance?"_ she said. "Can you dance?"

"Of course!" he said, looking affronted. "Can _you_?"

"Yes, I think so," said Hermione thoughtfully.

"You _think_ – you _THINK _so?" he repeated.

"Yes," she said slowly. "I think so."

"Okay, that's it," said Malfoy, standing up and throwing a pillow at Hermione. "Come on."

Tossing the pillow aside and fixing her hair, Hermione gaped blankly at him. "Huh?"

"Let's see," he said, gesturing for her to come towards him, and rolling up his sleeves.

"See what?" demanded Hermione, still staring at him.

"Come on now, I need to know if you can dance! I'm not dragging you around the dance floor like some fool – you're not making _me_ look bad!" he explained, walking towards her and grabbing her forearm. Hermione stayed seated.

"Nuh-uh, no way, sorry – but no _freaking _way." Hermione shook her head violently fast, grabbing the arms of the chair she was sitting in and pressing herself into the cushions as if she would be able to stick herself to them.

Malfoy withdrew his hand and put both on his waist. "You're quite sure, then?"

"Yes!" she cried. "Quite sure!"

"Fine."

And then Malfoy reached down and grabbed her waist and lifted her off the chair.

"MALFOY!" Hermione hollered, once again not minding that she had a legit ament reason to do so. It was helping her feel better inside, releasing her vexations. "ARE YOU CRAZY?! PUT ME DOWN!"

"No. You show me you can dance. Snap, snap, we're done, then I will leave you alone," he said, not letting her go.

"NO!" Hermione shouted stubbornly. "PUT ME DOWN NOW!"

"Nope. Sorry," he shrugged. "Guess I'll just have to stand here all night. It'll be a shame when they make fun of us walking into the Great Hall tomorrow morning though . . ."

"Malfoy!" she pleaded.

"I can stand here aaaaaalllllll night, Granger."

"Ugh! Fine! Just put me down!" Hermione finally agreed. She wobbled a bit from dizziness as he set her on her feet.

"Good, now, give me your hand–"

"I know!" she snapped, glaring at him, once again using him as a scapegoat for her bitterness and confusion.

So they took the main stance for the waltz, one of his hands on her waist and the other holding her hand, and Hermione's hand was placed on his shoulder. Her hand tingled slightly as it touched his bare skin.

"We have no music," she said suddenly.

"We'll make our own music," he said, wiggling his eyebrows and smirking.

"Oh shut up! I'll leave right now and do bad just to embarrass you, Malfoy! I don't care what people think of me."

"Oh take a joke, Granger," he said, looking serious again. "Alright, move."

So they moved, and Hermione stumbled and fell. Malfoy looked down at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Ouch!"

"Oh yeah, you're a real pro."

"Oh sod off, you were going way to fast! That's not a waltz – it's a tango!" Hermione snapped, rubbing her behind.

"Come on, keep going."

So they went, and this time, knowing his pace, Hermione kept up. He stared into her eyes the entire time, as if challenging her to look at her feet, but she did not. The concentration it took to surmount this feat kept her thoughts off of Michael and her predicament. And, though she would hate to admit it, she was glad Malfoy had pulled her into this. It was helping her substantially. She smirked. He smirked back. And then he switched directions, but Hermione expected that. But when he switched again immediately after that, she stumbled just a little, looking ungainly, but regained her composure and kept going.

Their feet moved the same way considerably fast, and Hermione was quite impressed with herself for keeping up with Malfoy, because he seemed to be quite good at what he was doing. Hermione's breathing became deep and fast as the dance intensified and they grew a few inches closer to each other, but she made certain to keep herself silent, as that was how Malfoy was. He looked like he was completely relaxed. But Hermione's every muscle was tense. So she tried to relax herself slowly, and found that it worked. She began to move a bit smoother and easier around his feet. So they moved around the space between the common room and the kitchen/dining area three or four times, and Malfoy spoke.

"You're not _that_ bad," said Malfoy, not looking away.

"Yeah, well, I can do more than read, you know," she said with a smile.

"We'll see," he said.

Hermione laughed.

"Ready?" he said.

"For what–?"

And then he twirled her outwards quite sharply, and pulled her back in before she even knew how to direct her feet. Not knowing to brace herself for the strength of his pull, she stumbled right into him and was cheek-to-cheek with him a second later.

Her chest heaved as she froze, trying frantically to collect herself. "That was . . . unexpected."

A moment later, with a stiff voice, he breathed, "Unpredictable."

Neither was no longer sure just how to move their feet.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, a flash of orange fur shot out from underneath the table, wending between her and Malfoy's legs. Malfoy moved forward sharply, backing Hermione into the chair behind her. She fell, and took Malfoy down with her, grasping the from of his shirt as she toppled backward.

It had happened in a flash, and now both of them lay breathing laboriously, twisted and tied in a heap of a forgotten dance. Malfoy turned his head and looked down at Hermione, his hair hanging gracefully in his face. His slate grey eyes absorbed hers, and they lay staring at each other, as if their thoughts were the same, as if they were connected. His gaze reached right down to her toes and made them tingle. And then, as if all of Hermione's confusion and frustration and anger towards Malfoy, and anyone else, could not be contained in her tiny being any longer, her head tilted upward sharply just as his body collapsed closer to hers, and their lips met.

It was hard and passionate, and their mouths were fused together for a long time. And as Malfoy gained entrance into her mouth with his tongue she obliged willfully, feeling nothing but lust for the moment she had somehow fallen into. Her heart was beating too hard, she could feel it in her head, in her stomach. Their mouths came apart and together again as their heads tilted in different directions. Hermione ran her fingers through his hair, and as Malfoy's mid-section pressed closer to hers, her leg rose, wrapping around his waist. Directly after, she could feel his hand laying softly below her knee. His other hand kept his body supported, so he was not laying completely on top of Hermione.

His mouth moved so expertly with her inexperienced lips she was overwhelmed. She moaned slightly as he moved his mouth to her ear and she arched her back into his body. Before she even knew what she was doing, their hips were grinding together at the same rhythm. As his lips found hers once again, feeling bold, she lightly bit his lower lip and he gasped. And she liked how she could make him feel something like she was feeling, because he was driving her mad.

Hermione's hand traveled from the back of his head, down his shoulder and arm until it reached the carpet and she gripped what fabric she could. And suddenly, his hand brushed over hers, and as if the connection of their hands, something so personal and intimate, roused them from their blissful state, they moved away from each other as if they had been scalded and their kiss was broken, leaving all but two thundering, desperate, disenchanted hearts to lay embittered and balked.


	13. Of Planning and Secrets

yes, this chapter is a bit short. sorry about that. but the next part I wanted to write, I wanted it to be a whole separate chapter so, I didn't just want to ramble on to make it longer. I do enough of that! lol. anyways, please review. I appreciate them all!

P.S. sorry to the readers who I confuse with the odd love triangle I have included! but the suspense and confusion is half the fun of reading more, right? haha.

Chapter thirteen – Of Planning and Secrets

"A ball?"

"A Christmas Ball?"

"And it's formal?"

"Right before holidays?"

"That's in two weeks!"

These were just some of the things Hermione was greeted with at the very next Prefect meeting on Sunday night when she had made the announcement. Malfoy was sitting beside her as usual, unusually stiff and straight instead of slack and lack, their chairs parted as far as they could go without either sitting at a different table. But that was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Two and a half, actually," corrected Hermione. "For Hogwarts students, and Prefects no less, that should be more than enough time."

For the state of mind she happened to be in, and the tremendous lack of sleep, she seemed in a very good mood. Ron, who sat at the back of the room, spoke next.

"Is there dancing?"

This question was not entirely absurd, but at the mention of it, some did snicker. Hermione, having seen a flash of a twirling girl and a blur of orange running underneath two pairs of legs, shook her head and cleared her throat.

Holding back the hesitation that threatened forcefully, she answered firmly, "Yes."

Beside her, Malfoy cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, but continued to look around the room, scowling.

"So what do we–?"

"Decorations," said Hermione promptly. "I already have the outlines, all I need is someone to be in charge of the committee. Then, there'll be five or six who'll take care of it a few hours before the dance. We need some of you to ask students their opinion on a band, or better yet, you come up with five bands – or, er, rather . . . Malfoy will tell you which bands – and have them choose the one they like best. It'll be easier that way – and we'll be able to control the choices, too.

Also, we need posters. Lots. Good ones, nice ones – draw their attention. There'll be no fee, but no one will want to go to a ball if they don't believe they'll have any fun, right? Right. So, good posters, lots – like fifty. Even more, if you can manage. And I want at least ten different designs, after that, duplicate them. And I don't want all of them stuffed into the Great Hall or the Entrance Hall, either. Common Rooms, Hallways, classrooms – with the teacher's permission – and anywhere else.

We'll need two or maybe two pairs of Prefects to go around to classes and explain dress code for the ball. There'll be some information on the posters, but we can take five or ten minutes and talk about it. Try to make it five, leave room for some obvious questions – just so it gets them listening – but make sure to include smaller details."

Hermione paused as she recognized their dedication, writing down everything she had said. She would have felt a little more appreciative if she wasn't in such a hurry to leave. She looked down at her list, then around the room (carefully avoiding Malfoy's direction) and then spoke suddenly, deciding they had enough time to jot down the main points.

"Suzanne, you can be in charge of decorations. I have the plans for you here. Lora, Rosemary, Charlie, Vern," she looked around the room again, "and Sheila. You five will work with Suzanne for decorating committee. Alright, so, music. Sam and Eric and Jackson. You three will make some parchments up, list five bands – er well, Malfoy'll tell you which ones – and then just have some teachers hand them out during classes, have the students pick the one they like best. It'll be a vote type of thing."

"Er, Hermione, which Professors–?"

"Try Flitwick – he's pretty good with that stuff – and, also, try the Herbology Professors. They've usually got time one moment or another during class to do something extra. Er, Hagrid. Yes, Hagrid. He'll be more than happy to do it. Also, hm . . . another good natured Professor, how about –"

"Snape?" whispered Ralph. They broke out into laughter.

"Dolop," said Suzanne. "He's very nice. Bet he'd let us take up the whole class time to–"

"McGonnagal might, if you ask her nicely. But you can figure out the rest," continued Hermione, her neck growing warm at the mention of Michael. "There's food, too, but, er . . ." Hermione glanced at Malfoy, who didn't move nor speak. She mentioned nothing more of it. "Okay, so then, Fredrick and Jack, you two will go around to classes and talk about dress code. _Make sure_ you talk to the professor first. And . . . I'll have the schedules for rounds that evening ready in about a week. Other than that," Hermione paused, going down her list of things to do. "I think that's about it, all the immediate stuff anyway."

She waited another moment as they rushed to write down the last few details. For the most part, Hermione guessed that they were more excited than foreboding, which was a good thing, because they were the ones promoting the Ball in the first place.

"Any questions?" she asked after a few minutes.

"When you say formal, you mean–?"

"Dresses and dress robes. The Headmaster was quite firm on the point of making it a formal Ball. So do yourselves justice, alright? Long evening wear is good. There'll be teachers at this Ball, so remember that when you choose this outfit," Hermione added as she noticed the look on the girls' faces. "They won't be impressed with cheap tactics. Respect the rules, and how about yourself, alright?

Is that all?" Hermione ventured.

No one said anything.

"Alright, you can go," she granted. "In one week, we'll have another meeting. Come to me or – er, Malfoy – if you have any questions!"

Hermione stood, frantically gathering her things as the Prefects around her did the same. Malfoy stood as well, opening his bag slowly and throwing what books and papers he owned inside of it. "Granger," he said suddenly in a low voice.

Hermione's breath came short and for the first time at the Prefect's meetings, she was the first one out the door, ignoring the funny looks she got for running. Malfoy watched after her for only a moment, a scowl etched still onto his otherwise handsome features.

Once she had gotten down the hall safely and unseen, Hermione threw herself into the girl's loo and shut the door firmly behind her. A look around the quiet, empty and gloomy U-bend told her she was alone.

And she buried her face in her hands and cried.

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Malfoy stormed into his room, slamming the door shut as hard as he could manage. He swore and threw his bag onto his bed. "Bloody–!" he snarled, kicking his trunk and sending it tumbling. Muttering, he thrust himself onto his bed and sunk his face into his hands.

What was he to do? To say? To think? To feel? To act? There was no answer he was searching for, because he knew that no matter how hard or for how long he thought about this, there was no manual, no book, no rules, and no advice or information stored in the back of his mind referring how to deal with a situation relating to his own. He was fairly certain that no one had ever done what he had done; that no one had ever been tempted to do what he had failed to show temperance towards; that no one had ever felt quite as lost as he did just now. This was a very, very confusing and frustrating position to be in.

Was it his fault? It was the way they were talking, that bloody dance, that bloody bet, that stupid cat, the stupid way she stupid talked and stupid moved and stupid fell and pulled him down with her and stared up at him and breathed and blinked and looked and thought and . . . it was all her fault.

But, again, how had he let himself fall into this compromising position? Literally. He had kissed Hermione Granger, his sworn enemy and rival. The 'mudblood' he hated and sniffed at and made rude and derisive comments to, the very same girl that was best friends with Potter and Weasely. The very same girl that had punched him. The only person to stand up to him the way she did. The only person to make him so mad he had to come into his room and destroy him own possessions. The only person to ever show him up, pass him by, and step over him while he lay bleeding (not literally, of course, because he could bet on the fact that she would help him, which also bothered him because now he was confused over the fact of whether or not he would help her). She was Hermione Granger – not even! She was Granger. Usually, just Granger.

And he was thinking about it, the kiss. About her. And she had been the one to pull away, too. What would have happened, if she had not pushed him away like she had? Malfoy shook his head of the thought and replaced it: nothing. Nothing would have happened, well, nothing more than it already had. They would've stopped, they wouldn't have gone any further. They would have. He was positive.

But he did not want to bother himself with those thoughts, they made him shift on his bed and made his mind wander towards thoughts that should not exist.

Malfoy presently laid back onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling. And she wouldn't even talk to him, now. She runs away from him now. He smirked dimly, in a sad, meek sort of fashion. It figures, the only thing to finally stop her from talking was the thing that made him want to talk to her.

Wait, he wanted to talk to her?

No.

He sat up and stared around the room, and then stood.

What was going to happen now? Was she going to tell anyone? What would people say? They would obviously be unbelieving at first, but what if she confirmed it herself? But why would she tell people? She obviously regretted it.

He scowled and jerked his head to the side, walking towards his bureau. So she regretted it. Why shouldn't she? She hates him just as much as he hates her. He hates her. She hates him. That was the proper way, and whoever didn't know that didn't know anything. Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger hated each other. He was a Slytherin and she a Gryffindor. They fought and never agreed. They yelled like enemies and never laughed like friends. They bickered and did not ever 'chat'. They glared and scowled and frowned and did not glance, or look, nor peek nor smile. They ignored and never acknowledged. They did not dance. They did not kiss.

It was just not the way it was.

It was just a physical attraction, he told himself. It was that bloody skirt, and that blouse. Those shoes. That hair. That perfume . . . whatever it was. It was nothing more; it was a shallow, meaningless attraction. They were teenagers, hormones were raging, thoughts were scrambled and tangled. And they had both seen the other in their most revealing states of being. They had been 'playing' that bloody game ever since that bet.

But she had started it, hadn't she? So why was she ignoring him? Why was she running from him? Why wouldn't she look at him? Was she that disgusted? What she that repulsed? Ashamed?

Wait, this was not a thought to be thunk by a Malfoy. He did not care that she did not care; that she did not seem to care. But she did. He knew she did. She had to.

Malfoy stared at himself in the mirror. He touched his fingers to his lips and looked at his eyes, deep in thought. He had had many, many other girls touch their lips to his own. Expertly and very inexpertly. He was not shy in the bedroom, the entire school new this. In fact, his popularity probably mainly derived from the fact that he had had so many girls slip beneath the covers of his four poster bed. But how is it, out of all of the girls he had kissed and seduced, Hermione Granger was the only one to make his lips feel tingly and numb, why was she the only one to make him think about her the next day?

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"Hermione, there you are!"

Hermione turned in her chair. She was sitting in the library doing her homework as the night began to fall outside the windows. She turned to find Harry smiling at her.

"You disappeared like that–!" he snapped his fingers "–after dinner."

She laughed weakly. "Yeah, sorry."

"Are you working on Transfiguration?" he asked, taking a seat.

Hermione closed her books. "No, I'm actually just finishing up, Harry. Sorry. I have to go and work on some plans for the Ball, I'll see you."

"Hermione–?" Harry called, as she rushed off out of the library and into the corridors. He was met by a number of vicious 'SHHHHHHHHH!'.

Hermione fixed the strap on her bag as she hurried up to her dorm. What was she thinking? – hiding out in the library? How much more obvious could she get?

She was not wearing her super short skirt or tight blouse any longer. She had lengthened it again, and it wasn't as long as it had been, but it was longer nonetheless. Her blouse was a bit looser and another button was done up. She was both surprised and pleased about the difference it made. She had figured that her clothes were the basis of the problem pertaining to the recent incident involving herself and Malfoy. It was the stupid tension caused by physical appearances. She was going to downplay it for a long time. And she would avoid Malfoy for as long as reality would allow her. When she had to talk to him, it would be with a tone of indifference. Because that's what she was – indifferent. She did not care that they had kissed. That he had been her first kiss. That he had taken and given her, her first kiss. More like he had stolen it.

She sighed as she slowed her pace. How was she going to get through her days now? She couldn't face Malfoy, not now, now that they had . . . And she couldn't face Ron and Harry and Ginny because she was so embarrassed. And she couldn't face Michael because she had those stupid feelings there where they shouldn't be. So how was she going to do this?

Hermione closed her eyes and leaned against the corridor wall for a moment. She could do one of two things: She could go along like she had for a week now, avoiding all of the most important people to her here at Hogwarts, or she could face up to what had happened and try to move on.

Hermione knew herself, and she knew that she had to face up to her mistakes.

_Mistakes?_

An uninvited voice rung at the back of her mind and she nodded her head and began to walk again. "It was a mistake," she muttered to herself. It shouldn't have happened, never ever should have taken place. It was wrong. And bad. Shameful. No doubt Malfoy couldn't wait to tell her how she should keep her bloody hands off of him, how she had jumped him like the mudblood she is – which was why she was avoiding, too. She wasn't ready to be so plainly embarrassed with nothing to say for herself. They had kissed. She had kissed him, he had kissed her. So what if it was the best thing she had ever felt?

Hermione reddened and shook her head at this thought. It was not. She needed to stop thinking about it. And the next thing that happened helped her substantially to do that.

"Evening, Hermione."

She looked up in surprise and struggled for a moment with her words. "Hi Michael."

He smiled. "Haven't seen you in a few days, where've you been?"

"Oh just . . . the ball and whatnot. Busy," she replied, surprised that she couldn't stop smiling at him though she was a little bit miserable.

"Oh yeah, that sounds, good?" he ventured.

"Ah, good and bad," she admitted truthfully. "Lots of time to spend with Malfoy."

"Mhm," he said, nodding in disapproval. "How lovely."

Hermione laughed. "Oh, yes."

She pushed some hair behind her ears.

"So how are you?" he asked sincerely. "You seem glum in class."

"I'm good," she said quickly. "Just tired, you know me."

"I do," he said with a warm smile that made her stomach give a leap.

"Well," she said shyly. "I have to get going."

"Stop by tomorrow night?" he asked. "Unless–?"

"No, I will," she nodded. "See you."

"Bye."

And Hermione walked away, in a considerably better mood than she had been.


	14. Of Complications and the Aftermath

heeyyy. :) I actually really like this chapter, and no worries to the reviews pertaining to the 'action' in the story, more is coming soon! Promise! anyways, as always and always, review! love them! read them with a HUGE smile! thanks to all of the compliments I have received, as well. anyways, please enjoy.

Chapter fourteen – Of Complications and the Aftermath

The mornings were the hardest. Hermione had come to realize this about two weeks after her . . . after she and Malfoy had stopped talking. She had to check, double-check, and recheck the bathroom to make sure it was free, as to not add further to the awkwardness and tension that stiffened the air and made it stale whenever they were within plain sight of each other. Her voice, she found, was simply no where to be found whenever she was around him. She doubted she could speak even if she had something to say.

But, and she smiled at the thought of it, her recent and frequent visits with Michael had helped her substantially. They did nothing but talk and laugh. And not about Malfoy. Hermione made sure not to say his name at all, and to her convenience, it seemed as if Michael never wanted to talk about him either, which made her feel a little more guilty for always complaining to him about Malfoy. But, oh well. Now was what mattered to her.

She furrowed her brow. It seemed to be the opposite with Malfoy, though. He had sought her out three times since the first time at the Prefect meeting. She had always made sure to ignore him and find a way to leave his presence as soon as she could. What did he want any way? To tell her to stay away from him? She was doing that! To tell her that he was disgusted and repulsed and that he hated her now more than ever? She had heard that from him at least thirty times before. Did he want to make sure she wasn't going to tell anyone else? Like she was proud of it. Like she was glad it had happened. Like she got a tingly feeling in her toes when she thought about it. Like she cared about him at all. Like she would do it again. Like she thought about it constantly.

_Stop thinking about this. _

Hermione turned the page in her book, but the words on the page were nothing but small black blurs and she realized that she would get no further into _The Tale of Two Cities_ tonight. She sighed and looked over at her bedroom clock. It was only seven. She could go and see Michael. She was done her homework. Who was she kidding? She _wanted_ to go and see Michael. But she was trying to control those feelings, and the more time they spent together, the stronger they grew, it seemed. She had been visiting him a lot this week.

Yeah, Hermione managed to balance a lot.

She probably should go and see Harry and Ron, she thought to herself. She hadn't spoken to either of them since she had walked away from Harry in the library. She felt too embarrassed to see them. Look at what she had done! She had kissed Harry's sworn enemy. She had _kissed_ Draco Malfoy! Draco bloody Malfoy!

Oh, what was a girl to do?

Even though she didn't want to, even though she knew it would be a lot easier to avoid them until she was over it, she pulled herself off of her bed and walked towards the door. She pressed her ear against it. She couldn't hear anything, but she knew that didn't mean he wasn't down there. He was probably in his room, or the Slytherin common room.

Or not.

She knew she couldn't turn back, she had already opened the door. She walked down the stairs quickly, moving into the common room and avoiding his eyes as she approached the kitchen table, where he was seated.

"Where are you going?" he said, standing up and kicking a chair in her way. His tone was not malicious or violent. He seemed a tad annoyed, though, Hermione noticed.

"Nowhere," she answered lamely in a small voice.

"Yeah, well you've been 'nowhere' for about four hours every night since the last meeting about the Ball," he said in a tone of indifference, but Hermione could swear she saw a flicker of aggravation in his eyes.

She couldn't believe he had noticed. Hadn't she been avoiding him enough that he wouldn't know if she was in a specific place for a small block of time?

"Er," Hermione faltered at first, but then stood a little taller. "What's it to you?"

Looking taken aback by her turn of attitude, he said, "So where've you been?"

"Never mind," she snapped.

"Why are you– I haven't done anything!" he blurted.

"What's the difference? – you _hate_ me, right? You only want to talk to me, to tell me off? – Right?" she said, her voice rising.

"How would you know!" he shouted, and she could plainly see his anger now. She had never made him sincerely show an emotion before.

"Because you do!" she repeated.

"You don't know anything about me," he said, this time seeming a little more self-collected.

"Sure I do," she scoffed. "You're the all great and all mighty Slytherin Sex God 'Draco Malfoy'. You seduce, oh, sorry, _successfully_ seduce more girls than I can count, right? You smirk all the time and at what ever you please, you're rude to any one you want to be rude to, you hate all muggle borns – just like your father, you–"

Malfoy advanced towards her, and huskily growled, "I am _nothing_ like my father."

There was an odd silence, one of which Hermione couldn't read. She couldn't tell if he was angry or not now. Why is it he was the only person in the world that could make her _want_ to rip out her hair and scream and be mad? She felt like an idiot.

"I have to go," she finally said in a small voice.

"Where," he demanded.

"Why do you care!" she shouted, in frustration. It was now seven thirty. How had she been standing here for a half hour? This was ridiculous.

"Who says I do?" he shot back immediately.

"Then why are you asking me!"

"What are you up to?" he asked. "Hermione Granger doesn't act like this. And then, all of a sudden, ever since October, you're always disappearing to places that you can't account for."

"You–?" she began, but he continued over her. She was a little disoriented at the sound of her first name.

"–yes. Me. I know you. More than you know me, anyway. Not that you would care. And neither do I," he said in a rush. "But, the point is, that you give yourself away too easily."

"What are you talking about?" she said, irritated and interested at the same time.

"You say you're going to study with Potter and Weasel or whatever, meanwhile, I know they've got the Quidditch Pitch booked. You tell your pals you've got Head's duties, they come looking for you, and we're definitely not doing any rounds. See? You're not a liar, you're you."

Hermione looked at him. "You're right, for once. I'm no liar."

"My point exactly," he continued, moving just an inch towards her more. "So why, I asked myself, would you be so afraid to admit where you are traipsing off too? – for your, what should they be called? – Nightly excursions?"

She was a little taken aback at how much thought he had obviously put into this. But he didn't let her questioning look make him falter.

"What would Hermione Granger lie about?" he gave her a hard look, one that made her take in a quick sip of air. "Or better yet, what would she deem worthy of lying about?"

For a long moment he just looked at her, not stared nor glared, but looked, as if suddenly seeing her there like he had never noticed. Hermione thought frantically of proper words to conjure up, something that he wouldn't be able to snap back at. Something that would neither condemn nor embarrass her. But, after taking too long to think, she just had to say whatever was on the tip of her tongue. So, without a contrivance as to what those words may be, she spoke to the daunting yet suddenly intricate figure before her.

"You–"

But suddenly, there was a sharp rapping at the door. Malfoy looked at the portrait hole and back at Hermione.

"I doubt that's for me."

So, gladly and regrettably at the same time, Hermione moved passed him awkwardly as he moved to the left. She opened the door to face –

Michael Dolop.

"Hello, Hermione," he said, smiling. His head was behind his neck, and he lowered it into his pocket.

"Hi," she said breathlessly.

"What are you up to?" he asked, smiling that same smile that made her smile right back.

"Nothing, er–" Hermione said awkwardly. Well, she _had_ been arguing with Malfoy. "_Professor_, I was just heading to the Gryffindor common room."

Michael looked at her oddly. And then, as if someone had slapped him, his smile fell. He nodded and winked, smiling again. Hermione blushed.

Malfoy, on the other side of the opened portrait and out of sight, was scowling at the sound of that voice. He hated that guy so much. Hated. Pure hatred. Probably more so than Granger. More so than his own father. And that was a statement. The only person who would ever favor Hermione Granger so much as to seek her out would be him, though, wouldn't it? The only person Hermione Granger would ever seek out to brag about her intelligence. The only person Hermione . . . Hermione . . . He narrowed his eyes and his head jerked in the direction of the portrait hole where Granger was standing and blushing like a fool.

Hermione nodded her head in a discreet manner, and shut the portrait softly. She took a breath, knowing she had to face Malfoy as soon as she turned to her left. But when she did she furrowed her brow and looked round curiously.

He was gone.

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Malfoy couldn't be putting it off any longer. He just had to grit his teeth and get this done. He had already helped out with the music – he had chosen five bands and given the list to the Prefects. He had already taken care of the plans for food. He had already figured out that the majority of students would be going, and had accounted for the margin error. So he had already told the Prefects how many tables and the amount of space they would be looking after.

So he was missing his dinner to get this final task done.

The only thing left was chaperones. He need to find five teachers. He had already asked Grubbly-Plank. Flitwick had said yes, though Malfoy doubted how effective he would be seeing as how he was five feet shorter than all of the students. The crazy squirrel–looking teacher with the huge magnified eyes like a bug said she would, but Malfoy knew that Granger hated that teacher, and would never let that fly. He had successfully gotten Madame Hooch after he had given detentions out to a bunch of third years who were messing up the library. Binns said no, after a long speech explaining how he wasn't attending the Ball because he had to visit a family that he doesn't get along with, including a fully-live brother who made _much_ more money than that. And the ancient Runes teacher – Professor Vector – was going to be away also, so he couldn't do it. McGonnagal had agreed – grudgingly. He had persuaded her by mentioning that if she didn't do it, he would probably have to get Snape.

"Yes, fine," she mumbled. "We do have the initial goal of wanting the students to enjoy themselves."

"Thanks, Professor," he said, and then, itching for some advice, he said, "Er, Professor, I can't seem to find a fifth chaperone. I've gotten you, Flitwick, Grubbly-Plank, and Madame Hooch."

"Who've you asked?" she inquired.

"All of who I just said, Binns and Vector."

"Hm," she said, looking back down to her parchment. "Go and see Professor Dolop. He'll be free – I don't believe he's going away for the holiday until after the Ball."

"Well, I think that Trelawny woman–"

McGonnagal snorted. "I do not think that would be such an entirely appropriate chaperone, Mister Malfoy. And you think that as well. Try Professor Dolop."

"But, Professor," he said in a rush of his tongue. "What about– Pomfrey, er, Madame Pomfrey? Yeah, I'll ask her–"

"I do not believe she's permitted to take the night off for the Ball, regrettably," McGonnagal said. "I'm sure Professor Dolop will be more than happy to do it."

"Fine," grumbled Malfoy, trailing his bag out of the room as he left.

As he came upon the classroom, he was praying his was still at dinner. So he knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again. No answer, again. He turned the doorknob and was slightly surprised to find that it was open. So he entered.

He waltzed up to the one-step platform at the front where the dark oak desk sat, swallowed completely by paper and quills and ink. He quirked his brow. There was also a magazine. He recognized the name on the front, glittering in gold – _Elixir of Enchantments_. He couldn't remember from where, exactly, though. It was open, upside down, seemingly holding a page. He flipped it over, curiously, and looked at the pages. It was an assortment of gold and silver and jewels and gems and sapphires and rubies – in other words, jewelry. He furrowed his eyebrows. What use would this stuff be to this guy?

"Good evening, Mister Malfoy," said a voice from the doorway.

Malfoy whipped his head round to Dolop, walking towards him, snapping a book shut and concocting a smile.

"Hi," he said in a low voice.

"What can I–?" he began, then paused slightly after his eyes flickered down to his desk and back at Malfoy. "What can I do for you?"

"What's all this for, then?" said Malfoy sharply, gesturing to the magazine.

"I said," began Dolop in a low, defensive voice, "'what can I do for you'?"

Michael walked behind his desk and slipped the magazine to the side, and looked up at Malfoy.

"Looking for chaperones," said Malfoy. "For the Ball, on the twenty-third. It's on a Friday. Hermione wanted five teachers."

"How many more do you need?" asked Michael.

"You're the last," said Malfoy, a little maliciously.

"You mean, 'the fifth'?" repeated Michael.

"No, I mean the last choice."

They looked at each other with blank faces, and hard eyes. The tension was palpable.

"I see," said Michael. "I'd be glad to, I s'pose. Miss Granger–"

"So it's back to 'Miss Granger', now, eh?" spat Malfoy.

It was silent again, and Michael opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. He shook his head slightly, looking confused. "Pardon me?"

Malfoy smirked and rolled his eyes. "I was standing there, at the door– when you came. I heard you. I'm not thick. Or, did you think that no one'd ever notice anything?"

"I'm– I'm not quite sure what–?" he began, his eyebrows contracted as if he were thinking especially hard.

"Liar," Draco snarled.

"Mister Malfoy," he snapped, "I"m well aware of your intelligence, so I'm sure that _you_ aware that I am your Professor and you are to treat me with respect."

"I'm thinking Granger gives you enough respect for the lot of students round here," Malfoy said, not stuttering.

"I think it is time for you to leave," said Michael. And Malfoy could see the heat rising from his neck and reddening his face.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows quickly, scowling darkly into the dim lit classroom and turned around.

"You'd better watch yourself," Malfoy's back said to him.

"You'd better be going."

"Don't–"

"Get out," snapped Michael, and Malfoy turned back around to face him.

"I didn't think someone so confused about what I was talking of, would be so rude and defensive."

"I don't like your attitude," said Michael. "Or what you're insinuating."

"Now ask me if I care."

"Before you get detention, Mister Malfoy, be reminded of this – you can lose your Head Boyship over this type of behavior." Michael raised his eyebrows, seeming impressed with himself.

"Oh? And can't you lose your job over _your_ type of 'behavior'?" Malfoy said bitterly.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't know what you're doing."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" snapped Michael, his frustration finally showing.

"You're supposed to be the Professor. You figure it out," said Malfoy, turning and leaving a bitter silence in his wake.

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"Stop looking so damn glum, Ron!" snapped the red head in the arm chair by the fire. And then, with a change of tone and a smile, "It's a Ball! It's s'posed to be fun!"

"No it's not!" whined Ron. "It's dancing and dressing up and music and–!"

"That's what's fun about it, moron!" said Ginny. She turned to Harry. "Don't tell me you're hung up like this, too?"

"Eh?" said Harry, looking up from his book. "Er, no. Should be a laugh."

"Traitor," mumbled Ron.

"Look, Ron, it'll be good," said Harry, attempting to cheer him up.

"Yeah, there'll be lots of good food there, too," said Ginny with a grin.

Ron raised his eyebrows, and then let them fall again and shrugged. "Who cares."

"You do!" said Ginny, irritated.

"Plus, I've heard Lavender say that she wants to go with you; heard her whispering to Pavarti that she wants you to ask her before any other girls; said that other girls been sayin' they want to go with you, too," Harry pointed out to his frowning friend. "So, cheer up, mate."

"Yeah, I guess," he said meekly.

"Ron, you're only upset 'cause you wanna ask Hermione and you're too scared to do it!" Ginny blurted.

"Ginny! I don't think that–!" Harry began, but Ron cut across him.

"No!" was all he could manage, turning pitch-red. "S'not it at all."

Ginny scoffed. "Oh, right. How could I be so _stupid_?" she said sardonically. "I'm almost as thick as, oh . . . Idunno, my brother!"

"Ginny, c'mon, leave'm be."

"Yeah, bite it," snapped Ron. "You dun know nothin'!"

"Whatever," she said.

"Just keep out of it–!" continued Ron, but was cut off by a loud squealing of girls and giggling coming from by the fire. Lavender smiled at him, and then turned and continued to giggle with her friends crazily.

"You'll be the one dancing with that," mumbled Ginny. And then, with a flash of a smile and a short blush she looked at Harry and hopped off of her chair. "'m going to bed. Night."

"Night," Ron and Harry said in unison.

Ron sighed. "So, the Ball's gonna be good, then?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"And you're gonna ask some'n?"

"Yeah."

Ron chewed his lip and lowered his voice. "You think she'd say no, then?"

"Yeah."

"HARRY!" shouted Ron. "Get your face out of that bloody book!"

"Sorry!" said Harry, stowing it away. "What were you–?"

"Never mind," snapped Ron, walking away. "I'm going to bed too."

"Okay."

And Harry pulled out his book again.


	15. Of Two Beginnings and One Mistake

**hey again, sorry if this chapter took long, im not too sure when i posted last? I've been a little distracted with school, but I'm trying to balance. lol. well anyways, i really like this one. hope you do too! please REVIEW loveee them all! Enjoy :)**

Chapter fifteen – Of Two Beginnings and One Mistake

His pale hand trailed lightly through his white blonde hair and then came to a sudden halt at the crook of his neck; he sighed heavily as his mind chattered noisily. He hated this restlessness. Some beast uncoiled within him every time he thought of that git, strutting around like he could have anything he wanted to have, saying whatever he wanted to whoever he wanted to say it to. Who knows what else he could do? What else he has done? With whomever? – because he definitely wasn't just thinking of a specific person . . .

Draco glanced at the clock. It was ten thirty. He wondered vaguely where she was. He had a slight idea, he had the blurriest of images, the tiniest trail of words in his mind, but he didn't even care. Nope. Didn't care on tiny bit. He would never dedicate a valuable piece of his mind, never waste it, on her. He hated her. They hated each other. That had been settled, had it not been? But of course it had. Because that's the way it had always been, there had never been a reason to settle it. It was like an automatic feeling, a mutual decision silently made between two people who knew each other simply through their studies, their pursuit of their future. It was but simple and annoying coincidence that brought them to such close quarters in life; it was not his fault that they were in the situation that they were in now.

He would bet his life on the fact that she would walk through that door five minutes before curfew. He remembered a time vaguely where he did that every night.

He sat up a little straighter where he was sitting on the floor at the foot of the couch. He stretched his legs and rubbed his neck again. His body would not stop. He needed to be doing something about this. How could she just ignore everything, just say it had happened and that they should never speak of it again, and let it go? How was it that he was the one with a claw grasping at his gut? With some force gravitating him around her? Why was he the one to look like a fool and feel like an idiot?

He recalled a time where he would court a different girl every weekend, _at least_ one, that is; where he was 'that guy' that the girls giggled over and chattered and whispered about excitedly. When did he exactly stop building his reputation? When exactly had this feeling wrought him up inside? Like arms being thrown around him, squeezing him; suffocating him. He knew it had been at least a month. A month straight without being with a girl in the way that he had used to all the time.

So what the bloody hell was wrong with him?

Was it . . . ?

Could it be . . . ?

Could it be those thoughts, those bloody games? That stupid scent of vanilla?

Malfoy stood, finishing his last few sentences and shuffling his papers so they alined. He looked at the pile and smirked meekly in satisfaction. He was too tired to . . . well, just too tired.

He went up to the bathroom and changed into his pajama pants and black muscle shirt. He splashed his face with water and leaned into the sink, then looked up into his own eyes. He glanced to the far right side of the double-sink counter, towards her side. There were two sets of shelves on the counter, one on his side and one on hers. He approached her side cautiously and picked up the skinny bottle with the pure white liquid swirling inside of it. He lifted it to his nose and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes.

And yet, somehow, it smelt even better when the scent draped from her hair, her neck, her skin. He looked at it: _Very Vanilla_. Well, at least he wasn't going crazy. It was vanilla. He turned it over, reading the back. A large label swept across the back, glittering in a familiar way of gold. _Elixir of Enchantments. _He stared at it for a moment before his brain clicked and he narrowed his eyes.

"Malfoy!"

He turned so fast that the bottle slipped from his hands and fell to the floor with a crash. The liquid spread onto the floor, then glittered a soft silver and vanished. The thin glass scattered into a hundred places and he stared down at the floor in shock, and then looked up at Hermione who was staring at him. Her eyes were glossy.

"What–?" she gasped, disoriented. She seemed dazed by the destruction of something she had prized so deeply. "What are you–?"

"I– didn't mean to," he blurted. "I was just–"

She nodded with her eyes closed, silencing him. "Don't worry about it."

He could sense her protest to look at him, and like a bubbling fire in his gut, it annoyed him to no length.

"But–?" he ventured, confused.

"Just – just, go," she said in a defeated tone, her hand meeting her golden brown curls and brushing them from her face. "Please."

Malfoy moved away awkwardly towards the door. He turned just as Hermione crouched to the floor, her back facing him, and gathered some of the glass fragments in her hands slowly, delicately. As she stood and placed the clear pieces onto the counter she tilted her head and blinked back some tears. Malfoy closed the door softly behind him before she could turn to see him again.

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December twentieth had come with no warning whatsoever. The news of the Ball had spread quickly with the use of the posters. Hermione, still dreading the idea of dancing with Malfoy and reminded of it more and more now that the time where she would need to face this fear grew ever so much closer with each passing minute, sat in class tapping her quill to her parchment nervously. She and Malfoy did not speak now. It was so strange that she actually could spend hours at a time staring at her ceiling, with a lethargy so complete that she would sometimes forget about her homework and drift off into her own thoughts until some noise – the purring of Crookshanks, the slight crackle of the fire, the wind outside her window – would wake her from her reverie.

She sighed heavily, looking up at Michael as he wrote on the black board behind him. He was so handsome. Too handsome. They were now studying muggle music through the ages. They began at the 1920's with jazz and were slowly moving forward into the twenty-first century.

Hermione glanced beside her as Malfoy shifted in his chair. He looked at her. They held a small gaze for a moment, and then Malfoy looked away with blank eyes. Hermione watched for a moment as he continued to stare blankly at his parchment. She was still mad, yes, about her perfume. After all, it had been very full and very expensive and it had taken her a long while to save up for it. Who wouldn't be mad about it? But she hadn't yelled at him or started an argument, because she knew that their arguments weren't normal. Sometimes they ended in laughter, sometimes in magic dueling. Sometimes they kissed . . . She looked away and up at Michael.

They smiled at each other subtly.

Her stomach churned the more she thought about either Malfoy or Michael. She had kissed on and liked the other. If anything ever happened with one, everyone would hate her, and absolutely nothing was allowed to happen with the other. Why couldn't she be a normal girl and fall for a relatively realistic boy? She sighed again.

She missed the days where boyfriends were no factor; the days were she and Harry and Ron were best friends and that was simply it; the days before all of this tension arose and having someone to hold hands with and kiss and date and dance with became so important; the days before all of this became important to her.

She wondered vaguely what would have happened if she had never met Malfoy, if Michael had never come to teach here. These thoughts carried her away for a long while and she wrote absent-mindedly through the rest of the lesson. Lunch came some forty five minutes later, and as the bell rang, Hermione turned towards Malfoy, suddenly remembering the exact significance of the twentieth.

"Er . . . I was wondering if you had . . . the plans for the Ball–?"

"Here."

Malfoy reached into his bag and pulled out a stack of parchments. He slid them across the table to a shocked Hermione.

"Wow," she said, leafing through them quickly. "Thank . . . er, thanks Malfoy. This is great."

"I didn't mean to break your bottle thing," he said, his tone flat, not meeting her eyes. "You surprised me."

"Yeah, sorry," she said.

"Why are you apologizing? I broke your thing, I'm supposed to say sorry," he said in confusion, but also, Hermione could tell he was trying to be non-chalant. It was almost cute, he was trying to look like he didn't care . . . and he did? Could he?

"Oh, right, sorry," she said.

"Stop that," he said. "You're too nice, Granger."

"Malfoy, I–" she began, but Malfoy stood.

"We have to meet with Dumbledore . . . at the end of the day, just if you . . . forgot . . . or whatever. See you."

And he left. Hermione stood slowly, wondering in amazement why he looked so ashamed and apologetic. She approached Michael's desk, packing her things into her bag. "Good lesson. I liked it."

"Thank you," he accepted her compliment with the slightest of blushes, Hermione didn't even see it. "I was thinking . . ."

"How strange," Hermione joked.

He laughed. "Yes. Well, I was thinking, that we could organize the schedules for the rounds and chaperones during lunch."

"Oh," Hermione said, furrowing her brow. "It's already done, actually."

"You shouldn't have to do all of the work yourself," Michael scorned. "I told you I would help you."

"Yeah, I . . . I didn't do it," Hermione admitted. "Malfoy did it. Look at all this."

She held up the parchments, so neat that they could have been mistaken for Hermione's work. They were all in order and numbered and explained. Everything was done perfectly.

"Oh, so Mister Malfoy's been nicer to you then," he said shortly. "Wonderful."

Hermione sensed bitterness in his voice. "Are you –? Er, everything okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he lied. "So how about yourself? Everything's been fine with your small predicament relating to Mister Weasely?"

"Oh yes," Hermione said, with a wave of her hand, talking quickly she went on. "I've decided that I will try to make it plain for him that I don't like him like that. At first I wasn't sure if I did or not, but after I realized that there was someone else I liked more, it wasn't that hard. Besides any of that, I have more important things to worry about so I couldn't be letting things like that weigh me down."

"Someone –? Else?" Michael said in slight shock.

"Pardon?" Hermione asked, furrowing her brow.

"Er, you said, you realized there was someone else you liked more, didn't you?" he repeated.

Like bricks falling in the pit of her stomach, Hermione realized that she _had _said that.

"Or– never mind," he said quickly, seeing the look on her face.

"Well, I guess I did say that," she admitted in a small voice.

"So, er . . . who is it that you–?"

There was a small pause where they looked at each other like they always did, right into each other's eyes, as if searching for proof of something.

"It doesn't matter, nothing can – er, will, happen."

Another silence.

"You should probably . . . go, er, eat some lunch," he said awkwardly. "I've got to grade these essays."

Hadn't he just said that he wanted to organize the schedules? And now he had papers to grade? Oh man this guy was confusing.

"Okay, good luck," Hermione said, heading out of the room in a fast paced walk.

The corridors were cold and empty by the time she got out of the classroom. Everyone had already ventured into the Great Hall or into the library. Hermione breathed in the cool crisp air and withdrew a shuddering breath. How is it that she could be so upset over any of this? She actually felt like she might vomit.

Ron liked her. A lot.

She did not like him at all.

She had kissed Malfoy.

Harry and Ron would hate her if they found out.

She fancied Michael.

Ginny would hate her if she found out.

She and Malfoy were so strange around each other.

She laughed and danced and kissed him one moment.

They hated and yelled and glared at each other the next.

There was a pressure in the back of her throat that pressed tears to her eyes and caused her to drag herself out into the cold courtyard. She threw her head back and smiled, enjoying a moment where no one was around to judge her; a moment where no decisions clouded her mind; no thoughts made her blush or coil in disgust. She sat down by a tree in the snow. The whole of the grounds was buried deep in snow now. No leaves were visible on the trees.

The cold air stung her eyes and cheeks where a few tears had streaked down her face. It bit at her exposed skin. She wiped her face. She was not going to cry about this any more. There was nothing to cry about. She was fine. Her superficial feelings for Michael would fade, she would never have to see Malfoy again after this year, she and Ron and Harry and Ginny were too good of friends to hate each other, and everything would work out.

So what if she was a little confused right now? She was a seventeen year old girl who stressed too much over school work, had two guys as her closest friends, lived with her worst enemy who happened to be one of the most gorgeous guys her age ever, and had a crush on her Professor. She was allowed to make a couple mistakes and feel a little upset once in a while. She was human.

Hermione took one last, relaxing breath, and looked round at the blinding white canvass. She wondered how she could be surrounded by such beauty as a winter at Hogwarts and feel so consumed in the ugliness of the complications of her own petty personal life.

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"The planning went well, I take it?" said Dumbledore cheerfully as Hermione handed over Malfoy's stack of parchments and her own. The two of them sat in front of his desk, looking tired and trying. Hermione smiled and nodded with effort.

"It went well," she confirmed.

"How about the dancing?"

"What?" said Draco, his head snapping round and his voice going hoarse.

Both he and Hermione sat up a little straighter.

"The dancing – the dance that the two of you will preform at the Ball?" Dumbledore went on. "You have practiced, I trust?"

His voice was knowing, as were his eyes. Hermione wondered vaguely if he knew about . . . but no. He couldn't have.

"Yes," she answered in a small voice, as Malfoy seemed stripped of his voice at the moment. "We have . . . sort of."

"Excellent!" said Dumbledore enthusiastically. "Thank you so much for all of this trouble you have gone through. I understand how stressful these types of things can be."

And then there was that twinkle in his eyes that made Hermione rethink the thoughts about his awareness.

"Also," Dumbledore went on, "I was wondering, pertaining to the issue of the Ball, whether either of you have obtained dates for that evening?"

"I haven't," said Malfoy at once.

"Nor have I," admitted Hermione.

Malfoy didn't have to look too far, though. Pansy and about six other girls from Slythering had asked him, a couple from Ravenclaw and a few from Hufflepuff, too. Even one from Gryffindor had been so brave as to ask him. He had turned them all down, of course. If he had wanted to take someone, he would have asked that person. If for some reason he couldn't go with that person . . . well, he would simply go alone.

Hermione was in the same sort of situation. Many a boys had asked her – sent her notes, gotten their friends to ask her, gone up to Harry and Ron and asked them if either of them were taking her, some younger boys had even asked Ginny to inquire about the fact of who she was going with – but she did not wish to go with a random person that was purely interested in her because she had decided to show off a bit of leg one day. She was not stupid. The only person she might have wanted to go with was completely off limits, and at one time, she had briefly imagined herself going with Malfoy. But that was pure insanity.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore might have been just a tad insane.

"Well then, I was thinking that it would be appropriate if you, Mister Malfoy, were to escort Miss Granger to the Ball," said the Headmaster with a pleasant smile.

"What if we had had other dates?" Malfoy inquired.

"Well, I guess it was just quite lucky that that wasn't the case," Dumbledore replied happily. "So, I trust that it shan't be a problem for either of you?"

"No, Professor, it'll be fine," Hermione agreed in a hollow voice. This Ball seemed too good to be true when she first sat in this office learning of it, and now her heart ached with dread and fear.

"Right, it'll be fine," Malfoy echoed.

"Excellent!" said Dumbledore. "Well, I shall bid you two a good night and again, another grateful appreciation for all of your hard work."

So they left together, and headed off towards their dorm. Hermione walked in step with Malfoy as they tread down the empty corridor.

"So Weasely never asked you, then?" Malfoy quipped quietly, uneasily breaking the silence. His voice seemed stiff but strong, and Hermione couldn't quite explain why she felt compelled to answer him, even after everything they had been through.

Hermione shook her head. "No."

"D'you think he was going to before the Ball?" Malfoy asked, smirking. He seemed a little more like himself now that she had answered him.

"Probably," Hermione sighed. "This saves for an excuse, though, since it won't be my fault that I'll have to decline the offer."

"True," said Draco slowly. "But why would it have been so awful having gone with the Weasel?"

"Don't call him that," she snapped immediately.

"Okay," he said, rolling his eyes. "So why not then?"

"Because," Hermione said, "he's like my brother."

"So you're brother fancies you then," said Malfoy. "That's not right."

"Don't be so crude," she scorned. "But it's pretty much the gist; Ron and me are too close to date; we are too good of friends."

"Have you considered telling him this?" suggested Malfoy. "Because telling me does no good."

"You asked," she said, shrugging her shoulders. They climbed onto the stairs and as it slowly changed, they stopped for a moment.

"About the Ball, not about Weasley's undying and apparently inappropriate love for you."

Hermione looked sideways at him. "Why?"

"Why what?" he repeated.

"Why'd you ask about Ron and me – going to the Ball?" she asked.

"Oh – well, just wondering, I suppose," he said, not looking at her.

They began to walk again.

"So then, you'll have to tell him no," he stated.

"I'll have to," she said. "You're my date now."

There was a short pause.

"Is that a problem for you?" he asked, not sardonically, but more curiously.

"No," she said, tilting her head. Her words and tone were both plain and stiff. Their pleasantries were very obviously awkward and Hermione wasn't sure why she wanted to speak to him so badly. "It doesn't bother me. Is it alright with you?"

"It's fine," he answered.

They were approaching the portrait now.

"We . . . er, still have to dance," Hermione said, finally breaching the subject.

He nodded curtly. "Yes, I'm aware."

They entered the common room in silence, the topic of the dance that was to take place seemingly stripping them of any further conversation.

"Where do you go all of the time?" Malfoy said suddenly, as Hermione reached the foot of her staircase. He had stopped and was standing by the couch, not meeting her eyes; he was looking down to a bush of orange fur coiled on the arm of the couch and was stroking it softly as it purred.

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked.

"Where do you go – when you leave here and tell everyone lies – for hours at a time?" he explained further.

Hermione's eyes widened slightly. He was persistent.

"Why does it matter?" she said, avoiding the question.

"Don't dance around the subject, Granger. Answer me."

"It is no right of yours to know where I go or with whom I converse with," she snapped.

"So you are going to see someone, then," he said, looking up at her and nodding. She could tell that he had been guessing that the entire time. This frustrated her.

"Why do you care, Malfoy?" she said, getting angrier the longer he stood there looking so non-chalant.

"Why are you spending so much time with him?" he asked bluntly, ignoring her question.

Hermione gaped at him. Did he actually know or was he just guessing? She couldn't afford to take any risks.

"Whatever you are talking about," she said, "it's none of your concern."

"You know it's not right," he said, walking towards her.

"Nothing's not right," she said stupidly.

"I know it's not right," he said.

"Really," she said sardonically, staring at him as he approached her.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Because, like you have admitted, you do not lie. And you lie about this? – that's one hint. You tell Potter and Weasley everything your mind can manage to twist into words and you have not breathed one word about these visits to them – that's the most important clue. And last, you are way too defensive about something that is supposedly perfectly fine and legit ament. Granger, why play this game with me? You will lose."

"I'm not playing anymore games with you, Malfoy," she breathed, as he was now but a foot before her. She found, for once, she was eye-level to him, having stepped up two steps. "We both end up losing."

"Did you enjoy it, then?" he said huskily.

Hermione opened her mouth but said nothing.

"Speechless?"

"Why are you doing this?" she asked. "What is your goal? To humiliate me? To spit on me and put me down? To make me feel awful? Stupid? Embarrassed? – because it has already been achieved."

"Why do you persistently assume that I only wish the worst when I open my mouth and conjure a sentence directed at you?" he asked, in a still-low voice.

"Because history has taught me to keep my guard up around you, Draco Malfoy."

"Yet you manage to kiss me."

"There were two people there, not just me."

"Hens the meaning of a kiss."

There was silence.

"Why do you insist on ignoring it?" he asked her, snaking forward.

"Because it was a mistake," she whispered, her eyes lowering as her voice faltered.

"How so?" he asked, picking up on her unsureness. He had grown considerably closer to her and she wasn't sure she remembered him moving.

"Because . . ." she trailed off. Her hands met his chest, her initial thought to push him away died quickly upon contact. "It's us."

His breathed out a little shakily for a moment.

"Why do you go to see him all the time?"

"I–?"

"You know it's not right," he repeated, cutting her off. She was not angry that he had interrupted her, as she had no clue how to reply.

"Is this?" she said, looking into his slate-grey eyes imploringly. She was of course insinuating that it was not, and he could feel it too. But he ignored it. And she didn't mind. She was lost.

His hands met her waist and trailed up the side of her ribs until they rounded her back and rested on her shoulder blades.

"No."

"Then why . . ." she began, her heart hammering so hard she wondered vaguely if he could hear it, "does this happen?"

"Look at who we are," he said in a low tone, his body moving closer to her own until her arms had wrapped around his neck.

"What does that mean? – you speak in riddles Draco Malfoy."

His mouth met her ear in a sharp but soft movement.

"We are both stubborn," he said, in that same low voice, not quite whispering. He kissed her ear. Hermione shuddered, her head falling back. "We are both too smart for our own good."

Hermione's hands somehow slipped through his hair.

He spoke again.

"We insist on detail."

Hermione buried her face in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

"Neither of us have friends that can comprehend everything we say and do."

His hands traveled to the small of her back, and he pressed his mouth lightly to her right cheek.

"And both of us haven't a clue why we are standing here."

Hermione breathed out slightly, and she could feel Malfoy grin against her face.

"Or why we won't move."

She lifted her face slowly, and their noses were but a millimeter apart. She could sense his lips before she could feel them. And then hers covered his and though they stood in one spot, Hermione could feel her word spinning around her.


	16. Of Falling and Kissing

**heey again, as usual, sorry if this took too long, but I was determined to write this exactly how I had planned, and that time. I hope you like it. Enjoy!**

Chapter sixteen – Of Falling and Kissing

Before anyone could do anything about it, Thursday had tumbled before Hogwarts in a blur of preparation for the Ball and the Christmas day that would soon follow. All of the girls who were of age to attend the Ball could speak of nothing but; they chatted about their dresses, blabbered about their make up, whispered about their crushes, gushed about their dates, bragged about their dancing and Hermione caught many of them whispering urgently to each other about how they wish that Malfoy had asked them – the fifth, sixth and seventh year girls, that is. Hogwarts' boys were busy trying to look calm and collected about the event that was soon to take place. Ron and Harry especially, Hermione noticed with a faint smile.

"Many think that these wars were caused by the crashing of some Muggle contraption called _The Stock Market_, but wizards and witches alike know that this second world-wide war was caused by an eruption of Dementor-breeding that decade. From October 1929, all the way to 1939, they were out of control; it was horrible. Muggles were depressed left and right, and to make matters worse – oh yes, they got worse! – the leader of Arabia, who happened to be a very powerful warlock at the time, attacked Canada with drought spells and plagues of grasshoppers; this all caused the depressed state of the Muggles in the North America only to deepen, and meanwhile, the leader of Arabia – or as _we_ know him, _Horace the Horce-faced Horrible,_ popularly nicknamed 'The Horse' among the wizarding political world . . ."

Professor Binns was especially excited about today's lesson and Hermione could see the students around her begin to droop in their chairs; the last class of the day should never be History of Magic. Hermione tapped her foot anxiously, glancing at her watch. She snatched her quill and wrote down the last few points in short form and as the clock came nearer and nearer to that wonderful ringing, she packed up her books and waited. She could feel the rest of her class tense as the countdown began.

A girl way in the back whispered excitedly to her friend.

"Only one more day!"

Yes, the school was abuzz with the anxiousness and nervousness of the following evening, but Hermione was paying attention to other things at the moment, and was only just vaguely aware of the girls viciously whispering about her being so lucky to attend the Ball with Malfoy, and not appreciating it one bit . . . at least to _their _knowledge.

Presently she checked her watch as she scurried out of her last class; the school was erupting with students flooding the halls for an end-of-term feast in the Great Hall; their last classes were today, as Dumbledore granted them a day off to relax and prepare for the Ball tomorrow.

Pushing and fighting her way through the crowds, she hurried up the stairs. She walked quickly down an empty corridor, swooped beneath a hidden cove, and came into another empty corridor. The dust was visible in the air as the sun hung at the window's level. The hallway was blanketed in a cold haze and Hermione hugged her books tight to her chest. She looked round her and gnawed on her lower lip.

"Boo!"

Someone gripped her shoulders and shook her forward. Hermione dropped her books and shrieked.

"Aah!"

Malfoy laughed, turning her around to face him.

"Malfoy! – Not funny!" she scorned, though she was half-smiling anyway.

"Lighten up, Granger," he said, rolling his eyes and still smirking. He pushed his lips onto hers, hard. Hermione, unsuspecting but also unwilling to object, kissed him back, standing as tall as she could, wrapping her arms around his back, pushing their stomachs together. He pulled away, grinning that foolish grin that made her feel all tingly inside. "After all, no classes tomorrow."

She frowned. "It's not like we'll be able to relax; we'll be busy all day."

"No objections here," he said, smirking and wiggling his eyebrows. Hugging her closer, he picked her up lightly and turned her playfully around once, so that she was facing the window and he was facing the wall. Hermione had never seen him act so foolish; she liked it a lot.

"Oh don't be so dirty! – I meant with the Ball preparations; there'll be tons of last minute details, you know," she corrected.

He pulled back and rolled his eyes. "You're a wild woman, Granger."

Hermione frowned at him again, grasping the front of his shirt and yanking his face close to hers, she said, "You don't know the half of it."

Malfoy's eyes widened and Hermione locked their lips; he backed her into the wall, cupping her face and smiling into her mouth.

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"Tomorrow! Tomorrow! One more day! – oh I can't wait!" said Lavender Brown as she bounced into the common room. She was on top of the world; Ronald Weasely had just asked her to the Ball at the feast.

Ron, Harry and Ginny followed closely behind, chatting amiably. Ron looked glum.

"Had to ask someone," he grumbled. "Can't go by myself. 'Mione's gotta go with the ferret . . ."

"We know, Ron, it's alright," Ginny assured him, as the three of them sat in their usual spot in the corner. "I just don't know why Hermione said yes."

"She would've protested a bit," assured Harry, at the look on Ron's face. Ginny caught on.

"Oh, yeah, for sure," she said, nodding. "And it is Dumbledore, I don't think she would ever be rude to him. Ever."

"Yeah," said Harry.

Ron grunted.

"Rooooon!" said Lavender, joining them. She sat on Ron's lap and pushed his hair back lightly. "I'm going to bed now, so I'll see you tomorrow at lunch?"

"Yeah," said Ron, a little too enthusiastically. It was surprising that he was putting in actual effort to like her more than he did. "Sounds good."

"Night," she said, leaning down and catching his lips.

Harry and Ginny looked away uncomfortably, and then after catching each other's eyes, grew warm and looked at the floor. Lavender detached herself a moment later and skipped upstairs.

"That," said Ginny, her eyes wide, "was a bit much, Ron."

Harry nodded.

Ron shrugged. "What d'you 'spect?"

"I guess," Ginny grumbled.

"So you going with whats-his-name, then? – Tomorrow night?" Ron said, speaking up.

"Nope," Ginny quipped, digging into her school bag.

Looking taken aback, Harry said, "Why didn't he ask you?"

"Oh, he asked me," Ginny said, turning to a marked page in her book. "But I said no."

"How come?" asked Ron.

"Obviously," said Ginny, "because I don't think I _need_ date to a Ball to have fun; I'd rather go with someone I really like instead of someone who'd just be there to be an arm to put around me. Besides, he was awfully touchy."

"WHAT!?" hollered Ron, standing. Ginny threw her book at him and he stumbled backward out of surprise.

"Oh _sit down_ Ron," she scolded, embarrassed. "Didn't I just say I said no to him?"

"Well – good!" spurted Ron. In a fluster he stood again and said, "I'm going to bed. Night."

"Night," Ginny said. Harry gave a meek wave.

"So who're you taking, Harry?" Ginny asked, lifting herself from her chair and retrieving her book. She looked up at him.

"Well, actually . . ." he said, clearing his throat.

"Is it Cho Chang? – she's been on about you in the girl's loo for ages and ages, I figured she'd come and talk to you about it, but I dunno, there was also–" Ginny sad quickly, and Harry cut across her.

"No, I haven't asked anyone," he said, equally as fast.

"Oh," was all she could managed after a moment's silence.

"Actually," said Harry, attempting for a second time. his voice was dominant, and it got Ginny's attention. "I was thinking. Since Ron's going with Lavender, and Hermione has to go with Malfoy now . . . it wouldn't be much fun for either of us to sit around alone . . ."

"Oh?" said Ginny awkwardly, fiddling with her book and shifting uneasily to her left foot. Harry stood and shrugged, hiding his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah," he said slowly, looking her straight in the eye. Ginny liked his new-found nervous type of confidence. "So maybe would you like to go with me to the Ball tomorrow night?"

Ginny smiled so widely it hurt her face. "Yes!"

Harry smiled down at her. "All right."

"Just so either of us won't be bored, though," said Ginny, recollecting herself.

"No," admitted Harry.

"No?"

Harry shook his head, smiling a lop-sided smile, and still not looking away.

Ginny stood on her tippy toes and kissed him on his right cheek quickly.

"See you, Harry," she said, blushing a brilliant magenta.

And Harry smiled at her back as she trotted upstairs and into the girls' dorm. As soon as the door shut behind her, he looked around the empty common room and jumped about six feet into the air. He touched his hand to his cheek.

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"So everything is now taken care of?" Mcgonnagal asked, shuffling through her papers. She looked up when she did not receive an answer and both Hermione and Draco nodded quickly. She was especially scary when she was stressed. "There is not one thing left to do?"

"Well," Hermione spoke up, recovering her voice. "We will have to decorate a few hours before the Ball begins, and we will have to prepare the food tomorrow as well, of course. We have to make sure the band can get set up, but that won't be until later on. The prefects will need to be prepped one last time before the Ball begins about the schedule and rounds and all of the times and everything. But other than that, everything that needed to be done before now is done."

McGonnagal nodded as a sign of approval. "Very good." She then turned her hawk-like eyes onto Malfoy and said, "And you?"

"And me? – what?" he asked, confused. "Er, Professor," he added.

"What will you be doing?" she asked, as if it were obvious what she was saying.

Looking with a blank face and slightly wider eyes he started with a stutter. "Well, er, she just said – decorations, food, the band, talking to the Prefects–"

"You two will be working together?" McGonnagal said in shock.

"Of course."

Hermione spoke sharply, as if it were a dumb question. But realizing her tone, she quickly recovered, "Er, I mean, we are both Heads, and Dumbledore told us we would have to work together. So that's what we were prepared to do, Professor."

"Oh, very well," she said, lowering her head and looking through the papers again. "Alright, good work. You are dimissed."

They rose from their seats in unison and Malfoy opened up the door for Hermione. But as they went to leave, McGonnagal said, "Oh – wait, Mister Malfoy."

"Yes?" he asked politely, turning his head, his hand still holding the door.

"Professor Snape wished to see you after we were finished here," she informed him. "I suggest you hurry, I told him I wouldn't be long. He's waiting in his office in the dungeons."

Grudgingly, and using all of his effort not to roll his eyes, he replied. "Yes, Professor."

Hermione and Draco entered the empty hallway, into the luminous dark where the only light came from the silvery orb that floated somewhere above the castle and the gloomily-lit torches that emitted a dim yellow glow. Malfoy immediately pushed Hermione sideways into the wall and ravaged her mouth.

Giggling, she stopped him and pulled away, looking at him skeptically. "What've you done?"

"Done–? What?" he asked, still dazed by her lips.

"Why is Snape calling you down to his office?" she asked him, crossing her arms and looking stern.

"I haven't done anything," he replied. "I dunno what he wants. You're such a pessimist."

"I am not!" she huffed. "I think of plenty of good things. I have lots of memories to keep me happy."

"If only_ I_ had something good to think about while I have to go see Snape. Something to keep my mind off of his greasy hair and long ugly nose and horrid death-like breath," said Malfoy. He sighed. "If only."

"Aw," said Hermione, sticking out her lower lip. "Poor Draco."

"I guess I'll go then," he said, making to leave.

"See you."

Malfoy looked at her. "What? – So you're not gonna–?"

"Gonna what?" she said quickly, smiling.

"Are you a sneaky little pessimist?" he asked with a smirk a moment later.

"Maybe," she said slowly.

"I think you are."

"I dunno," she said again, in a joking slow manner.

Malfoy moved closer once again and Hermione uncrossed her arms. They kissed for a few moments and then Hermione began to trace around his hip bone lightly and he pulled away immediately.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke.

"What are you doing?"

Hermione, smiling slightly, replied, "Maybe I'll tell you later. Go to your meeting."

And she turned and walked away, patting him on the chest.

"Or maybe you could show me?" he said in a raised voice, standing where she left him. She turned the corner without another word.

She decided to head to the library to hand in some books that she had finished with. She had finally gotten through them now that the planning for the Ball was done with. By the time she got to the library, her heart was still racing. She couldn't explain it, though, it was odd. Every time she and Draco touched – even something simple like his hand brushing over hers – she got goosebumps and her heart would flutter in her chest. Sometimes she would even feel a little shaky after.

It wasn't as if she didn't like it. She loved the way they kissed, and he could be funny when the mood was light and serious when she wanted him to bee. True, he was annoying as hell when he wanted to be, but who's perfect? Certainly not Hermione, look who she was involved with!

She thought it was awfully funny though – funny enough to make her laugh at random moments – that she and Draco were in this odd situation together. They had spent the last six years hating each other, tormenting each other, hating one another's friends, houses, families, culture, voice, presence – basically hating everything about the other. They had also been fighting non-stop over every little thing there ever was. You name it, they had fought about it or something relating to it. And on top of that, he was her best friends' worsts enemy. And yet, here she was, smiling because he liked the way she kissed him.

And she liked the way he kissed her, too. But Hermione wasn't thick. She knew how far to go and not to go. She was surprised, however, that when they kissed or did whatever, he never ever pressed on to go further. It was as if he was simply content with what ever they were doing. It wasn't as if Hermione would oblige if he ever pressured her, but she was curious to why he hadn't, with a title such as 'Slythering Sex God'.

"Miss Granger? – Can I hep you?" quipped Madame Hooch from behind the desk. She looked her curiously as she stepped forward with her books.

"Just wanted to return these, thanks," replied Hermione with a slight blush. She wondered how long she had been standing there looking foolish.

"Alright, thank you," Madame Hooch said, watching her as she went towards the shelves at the back of the library.

Entering one of the longer aisles, she trailed her hand down the bumpy line of books, humming a song she had forgotten the lyrics to. She stopped, tracing her finger down the spine of a dark green book that read _Forbidden Love_.

"Evening, Miss Granger."

Hermione turned so fast she pulled the book out of the shelf.

"Michael," she said, seeming awkward.

"How are you? Haven't seen you round lately," he inquired. "At all."

"Er, sorry . . ." she began. "The Ball planning really, er, took time."

"Yes, that's fine, I'm only kidding," he said with his warm smile. "But I hope we will have time to talk again soon?"

"Oh, of course," she said, nodding and smiling and fidgeting with the book in her hands.

He looked down to it and said, "I've only just started that one. Don't tell me how it ends, okay?"

She laughed softly, and nervously. "Alright."

"So are you ready for the Ball, then? – Sounds like it. How about the dance with young Mister Malfoy?"

"Er, no, er . . . dreading it, actually," she replied.

Seeming relieved by this answer, he smiled and said, "That's too bad. Just remember, it'll be over in five minutes."

"That's true," Hermione said thoughtfully. "So what are you doing for the Christmas holidays?"

"Going to America to visit family, you know," he replied. "What about yourself? – going to see your family in London?"

"Er, actually–" Hermione began before she knew what to say. "I'm not quite sure, really."

"Ah, still debating over the dilemma with Mister Weasley?" he inquired.

But this was not the reason, at all. She knew now for sure that she did not like Ron, and she knew her way around words. She would be able to explain to him, however awkward it would be, that she did not fancy him the way he did her. And even if on some level he surprised her, she doubt that it could ever get far, at all.

Actually, the reasoning behind her confusion, was the fact that she wasn't sure if Malfoy would be leaving or staying yet. She hadn't asked him, because she wasn't sure what she wanted to hear. Did she want to spend two weeks alone with him? – or would it be better to get away and rethink this whole thing. She was confused by him so easily.

"A little . . ." she lied. It was the first time she had ever lied to Michael. She suddenly felt a wrenching in her gut, a feeling of immediate urgency. Something had to be said and it had to be said now. "Listen, Michael, I–"

But something caught her throat and prevented her from speaking. She had never felt so nervous, and yet so compelled to continue.

"Yes, Hermione?" he asked after a moment.

"I– okay, you need to let me say this, okay? Or else I won't be able to – just, don't interrupt me, alright?" she said quickly, turning around and pushing the book back into spot where it sat. "Whatever I was thinking, before – about you . . . I think you noticed. And I think you should un-notice it. It's not right – it's foolish."

His head spinning, he opened his perfect mouth to speak, but she cut across him, turning back around. Her neck and face were feeling warm.

"I said don't interrupt me. Thank you," she ploughed on. "I know you must've noticed something. But it's not a game, this is something serious, and whatever feelings –" the word choked her but she continued "–whatever might have been there, it can't be there. It would never work. It's foolish of me to even be saying this right now, and I'm probably even breaking some rules, but I had to say it now . . . because whatever I felt for you . . . can't be there . . . and, er . . . I have to stop talking about this now, but, one last thing is – is that I don't know where this came from and I'm sorry I even had to bring it up."

Hermione looked up at him in shame and embarrassment. She rambled on and on and had only a vague idea of what she had said. But her reasons were right: she didn't know where it had come from, the feelings had to stop, and she was sorry. She wasn't even sure if any of those feelings were there. It was probably moreover the fantasy of wanting what you can't have more than anything. But who knows.

"Hermione," he said, shocked. In a low voice, he said, "You –? Felt –?"

She smiled, embarrassed. "I– look, I have to go. I'll see you at the Ball."

And she hurried away from him, feeling his round, green eyes follow her to the end of the aisle. She wished she had never moved from her outlook on this whole situation, about him being inappropriate to think about, because now was she not overwhelmed with thoughts of Malfoy, she was filled with guilt about Michael.

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The snow draped Hogwarts' canvas beautifully on Friday night; the snow flakes were falling in sheets, it was a near blizzard outside. The sun had long ago hidden itself well behind the towering hills in the distance, and the moonlight now sent a brilliant white glow over the Black Lake. It was a beautiful night. Freezing cold, but breath-taking nonetheless.

Hermione heaved a deep sigh as she stared herself down in her full-length mirror. She tilted her head. It bothered her a little that she had put so much effort into her appearance tonight. But was there any harm in taking pride in her looks for a single occasion? – at a Ball where she would be dancing in front of the entire school, no less? She thought not.

Her dress was black. It dipped gracefully low in the front, and dangerously low in the back. It tied behind her neck; it was a halter dress. It draped to the floor, but did not drag. There was a classy slit up her right leg, going two inches above her knee. It allowed her to walk more freely. She wore black strap shoes that gave her an extra inch in height.

She wore two silver hoop bracelets on her right wrist, and a pair of silver dangling earrings. She wore only the lightest touch of coverup, and a smear of shiny lip gloss. That was the extent of her makeup. She did absolutely nothing special with her hair. She had taken a clip and thrown her hair up to wash her face and had just not taken it out. Her curls looped around the clip and concealed it, so it didn't look too bad at all. Few curls fell freely around her ears and her bangs were simply swept across her face. She gave herself a lop-sided smile.

"Hermione! It's six thirty-seven!"

"Alright! Alright! Coming!"

Hermione hurried down her stairs, holding her dress so she didn't fall. She walked quickly passed the couch, and realized Malfoy wasn't beside her. She turned to look at him.

He stood where he had lifted himself from the couch, slightly widened eyes and his lips parted a little.

"You . . ." he began. He cleared his throat. "You, er, look really good."

Hermione blushed and smiled.

"You look really good, too."

He approached her.

"Where on earth, would Hermione Granger ever get a dress like this?" he asked, eyebrows raised as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

She laughed quietly.

"So you like it then?" she said with a smile.

"Are you trying to impress me?" he said, his lips by her ear. He was holding her closer now. Hermione could feel a warming on her back where his hands met her skin.

"Maybe," she said quietly. She arched her back suddenly as he ran his finger down the basis of her spine.

"Ticklish?" he said, pulling back and smirking.

"We'll just have to wait for that answer, won't we?" she said, with a hooked eyebrow. She held his hand and pulled him out the door.

al**right, so. did you like it? I was a bit unsure about the way the Hermione/Michael confrontation had gone . . . let me know what you think! it's always appreciated. anyways, the next chapter should be along shortly . . hope your excited for the ball :)**


	17. Of Dips and Heartaches

**hey again . . I like this chapter. it is, of course, the ball. long awaited, I think. It is interesting. I hope I added somethign to keep your attention. sorry if the updates are taking a little longer. but I hope you like it just the same .. Enjoy :)**

Chapter seventeen – Of Dips and Heartaches

As they trotted down the hallway in silence, Hermione noticed that it was snowing outside. She smiled wearily as they went on, her stomach tying itself in knots the closer the ballroom grew and the farther their feet carried them. She swallowed hard.

There were some decorations around the main hall as they approached the foyer. There were some blue and white fairies floating near the ceiling, sparsely, but they were there. Hermione supposed they were the left over ones. She wondered how many were in the ballroom. She licked her lips and glanced at Malfoy quickly. She was spared a moments thought as they turned the final corner and were ambushed by a mist of snow falling from the high ceiling. Hermione grinned. Some fairies were playing with it high up as they flew around. The snow barely met her hair before it disappeared. Malfoy look around, his expression approving.

The foyer was empty when they arrived, save for the snow and the fairies. Everyone had already been escorted inside the ballroom, they supposed. The doors were closed. Hermione and Draco walked nervously together, Hermione's hand crushing his own. They weren't late, though – they couldn't be. McGonnagal had said be there by seven o'clock. It was only quarter to. Hermione sent Draco a furtive glance as she gnawed on her lower lip.

"You look so cute when you're nervous, you know," he said, looking straight ahead and smirking. "And I'll be lucky to have any bones left in that hand if you keep on."

Hermione yanked her hand away, blushing. "Sorry."

"Never said I minded."

"Ah, there you two are!"

McGonnagal came rushing out of a hallway, her long green robe billowing behind her. "They're all inside, milling about; Dumbledore's said to seat them for a while, but they're getting a bit restless. Are you two ready?"

She was speaking so fast and looking round so much that Hermione was sure she was having a panic attack. She didn't wait for an answer, however, and was ushering – more like pushing – them to the wide, oak double-doors before they had time to protest, not that they would have. Hermione doubted she would have been able to speak at this point. She could barely breathe.

When she pulled the doors open, there was an eruption of talking and laughter that belonged the bulk of Hogwarts' student body. Hermione swallowed again and closed her eyes. McGonnagal rushed in front of them and they followed subtly behind and she stopped in the middle of the dance floor – which was empty.

Hermione and Draco walked down the carpet that lead directly from the doors. There were tables all around them, set up in proper rows and columns. The room was lit in a glowing blue and there were hundreds of white and blue fairies floating near the ceiling and flying around the room. It was snowing in here, too. It was the fake snow, of course, and also disappeared a few feet before the floor. The high windows were uncovered, and a few onto Hogwarts' night grounds were visible.

An orchestra was set up in the far right corner on a stage, where the band would play later. As Hermione and Draco walked onto the dance floor, the room hushed and become silent. McGonnagal looked taken aback that she did not have to do that herself. Regaining her composure, and gesturing to the pair next to her – which were standing apart still – the attention (well, some of it) fell onto her.

"I believe that our evening will begin with Hogwarts' own Head Boy and Girl preforming an opening waltz," she announced.

Hermione's head snapped in Draco's direction but his eyes were fixed in front of him, his face expressionless. The orchestra looked confused. She looked into the crowd of people looking at her. She made out Harry and Ron and Ginny and Lavender at one table and looked in the opposite direction. She could feel her face flush. How could she think that she would have the ability to do this?

Quiet applause came quickly, and Draco turned to face Hermione. She nervously followed suit, looking all round the room frantically.

Out of the corner of her mouth, she whispered urgently, "You told her we were doing a _waltz_?"

"No," he replied. "I suppose she just assumed that we would not do anything that required any preparation."

"Well, she was wrong," Hermione scoffed, a little hysterically. "No one's expecting–"

"Since when do you care what _they_ all expect?"

The music began; a soft blow of flutes and chimes, a low drum roll and piano. Hermione's eyes met Draco's slate grey ones as he took her hand and his other found the small of her back. Miraculously, her hands found their destination and they took stance. Definitely not a stance for a waltz, though. The crowd of teenagers and teachers around them were whispering and muttering and staring.

The first strike of the violin brought Draco's foot forward and Hermione's foot back, his body leaning into hers. The next strike brought them back up. And then, as more violins joined in, Hermione and Draco moved quickly to the right on the dance floor and there was silence in the ballroom once more. Turning quickly, Draco practically spun Hermione on her heel.

They were staring intently at each other, a gaze so tangible with thought that it broke Hermione's and Draco's hard, concentrated faces into tiny smiles. The corners of their mouths revealed to each other more than their words ever had.

Draco's hair dangled forward in his face as he moved and turned quickly, only looking away from Hermione's face when the dance required them to do so.

Hermione detached one of her hands from Draco's and moved outward so that he and she formed a short line. Their feet danced on the floor in unison and the room was in awe with gasps and sighs of disbelief. The music was rising in volume and intensity. Hermione spun back into Draco at this point.

Breathing quickly, Hermione's feet obeyed demand and worked quickly in step with Draco's. Everything was moving in periods of extremely quick at this point. But when a pause in the violins came, and only the piano was left to echo round the room, everything seemed to slow down. Draco's arm was above Hermione's head as she spun once . . . she met his eyes as she passed him . . . twice . . . she saw the crowds' faces and wide eyes . . . three times . . . she saw Dumblodore smiling softly . . . four times . . . she saw Draco staring at her with a slightly open mouth and entranced eyes, and then came to land within his arms once more.

The other instruments joined in as an explosion of beautiful sound a moment after they stood still and they were moving to the left in a familiar pattern that was embedded into Hermione's mind like commandments into stone, like grey eyes that bore into her mind, like hot breath on her neck, like kisses near her ear, like goosebumps running down her arms.

Another slow in the music brought them closer to the ending. Draco, long ago deciding that they would obey no rules for this dance, lifted Hermione and brought her to the right on a strong beat of the drums. The drums gave four more sudden beats, their cue to move in step exactly four times. As the drums stopped completely, Hermione's feet slid backwards on the floor, her back taking comfort in two strong pale, soft hands. Her head leaning back, one leg bent slightly, she let her arm extend beside her and she smiled, taking pride in the fact that this dip had been spontaneous.

Silence followed this; the music had stopped. Louder, outrageous, and ridiculously enthusiastic applause. Hermione, standing up straight, felt dazed from the sounds that met her ears. Blinking and smiling sheepishly, a pair of hazel eyes met hers. These eyes were unsmiling and the hands that belonged with these eyes were not clapping. The body that belonged with these eyes and these hands turned away a moment later and was gone, disappearing into the crowds.

Hermione suddenly realized that she was still dangerously close to Draco and pulled away as softly as she could manage. He did not look at her, merely inclined his head to the crowds and set off towards his fellow Slytherins. Supposedly checking the pockets on his robes, he looked back and met Hermione's eyes for a second.

Her heart beats were choking her as their eyes met; she was deaf. And then he turned away and the cheering flooded her ears again. She turned to the Grffindor section of the room, and as the music started up again and more couples flooded around her, she looked around for the table that sat two redheads and their dates.

Wending her way through both the people and the tables, it took her a while to find her destination as people kept stopping her to compliment her on the dance and her dress, or the way she had set up the ball. It was harder to find red hair in blue light than she had thought.

At last succeeding, she smiled brightly at Ginny, who was the only one to be found still sitting at the table.

Hermione spoke first, over the music and loud chatter, "Hi–"

"Hermione Granger!" Ginny squealed. "Where on _earth_ did you learn to dance like that?"

"I–"

"And where did you get that dress!" Ginny said, looking down. She stood, grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her into a seat beside her.

"My mom bought it for me in the summer, for a wedding we went to – she wanted to set me up with some guy," Hermione explained. "Obviously I wasn't interested, but I kept the dress. Do you like it?"

"Yes! I only wish I could pull off something like that," Ginny went on. "But Ron would never let me out in public dressed like that, you know Ron."

"But you look fine," Hermione said, looking down at her dress. It was emerald green and strapless, and draped to the floor after flaring at the waist. "Beautiful."

"Thanks," she blushed. "But . . . I wanted to ask you – how are you handling Lavender this time round?"

"What d'you mean?" Hermione said blankly.

"I mean . . ." Ginny leaned forward, speaking so only Hermione could hear. "She's always around . . . all over Ron . . . aren't you annoyed at all?"

"Why–?" Hermione began, but then stopped. Ginny didn't know?

"Hermione," Ginny said, her eyebrow hooked as she sat back and observed her friend. "You're the one who fancies–"

Ginny stopped as Hermione avoided her eyes.

"You don't–?" she said, eyes wide, leaning forward again. "Hermione–!"

"I was going to tell you! I just . . . have been busy . . ." Hermione mumbled under Ginny's intent eyes.

"Hermione," said Harry, arriving at the table with two glasses. "Nice dance."

He sounded less than enthused.

"Thank you."

"What are you guys talking about?" he asked, taking a seat.

"Nothing important, I guess," said Ginny, graciously taking the drink Harry and brought her and beaming. She did not look back at Hermione.

"Where'd Lavender drag Ron off too?" Harry asked them.

"Dance floor. We probably won't see them for the rest of the night," Ginny said, smirking. "She doesn't like to share. But _apparently_ that doesn't matter."

"Ginny–"

"No, Hermione, you don't tell me anything any more," Ginny snapped. "Actually, I can't think of that last time we talked properly. What have you been doing?"

These words hit her like a hammer through glass. "Doing–?"

"Yes. Where have you been?" Ginny said haughtily.

Harry, looking far more than uncomfortable and confused, drained the remainder of his punch and then became interested in the empty glass that remained.

"I've been – here," Hermione stuttered, taken aback by this abruptness. "I've been busy."

"You can blame only so much on your Head Girlship, Hermione," Ginny scolded.

Hermione's face burned, not with embarrassment, but with frustration and anger. She stood. "You know, Ginny, of all people, you're the last one I expect this sort of behavior from. And over something so simple, too."

And she left.

Who was Ginny Weasely to insult her like that? – and in front of Harry? Who was she to embarrass her and yell at her like she was some child? Her temper needed to be tamed. Hermione walked across the dance floor and to the table where the refreshments were set up. Pouring herself some water, she drank it and cooled down. She looked round the dance floor in front of her, and recognized a platinum blonde head standing alone. She wandered subtly in his direction.

"Where's the Weasel?" he said.

Hermione and somehow managed to stand back to back with him. It would be hard to spot them at a first glance, as there was a crowd of couples dancing around them.

"Off with his girlfriend, I expect," Hermione said.

"Why do you sound so snappy? – what's happened?" he asked into his cup, his elbow touching her back as he drank.

"Nothing, just – I wish I could dance," she sighed, looking round.

There was a silence between them for a moment.

"You know I can't, the first dance was a different situation, but people will notice if we dance of our own choice, Hermione," he said.

"I know," she said meekly.

"Then what are you here whining for? – go dance."

"Draco," she said, "I don't want to dance with–"

She somehow managed to stop herself from finishing that sentence.

"Why don't _you_ go and dance?" she snapped back, crossing her arms and scowling in front of her. She waited for a response, a little nervous admittedly.

"I'm not the one who said I wanted to dance," he reasoned. "I don't like it much."

"Really?" she said, sarcastically. "Because your performance gave me a different impression."

"Yes," he said slowly, and she could almost feel him thinking as he paused. "I did actually – enjoy that dance. We made it fun, though."

"All dancing is fun," she said blankly.

"I think it depends," he challenged.

"Do you?" she said. "On what?"

"Who you happen to be dancing with," he said. She could feel him shrugging. He took another drink of his punch. "What about Potter?"

"What's that?" she asked, thinking of his response. "What about Harry?"

"Why don't you dance with him?"

"He's got a date, well, most likely she's a lot more than that – but in any case, I'll let her have him to herself tonight. Lord knows she has enough trouble with that," said Hermione, sighing.

She could hear Draco snort. "You mean to say girls fight over Potter?"

"Jealous?" she said, smirking.

"I can get any girl I want to," he said immediately, confidently.

"What makes you so confident in that claim?" she asked, uncrossing her arms and leaning down a little pretending to fix her dress as someone walked closely by the pair. She stood again, waitng for his reply.

"Well, just look at who I've landed."

She could imagine the broadness of his smirk, and wished desperately that she could grab him and kiss him at that moment. Instead, she subtly reached behind her and brushed his hand. He squeezed it and held it behind his back for a moment.

The end of the song brought them to realization and they came apart.

"I'll see you later on," she said, departing.

"By the balcony, twelve o'clock."

And she left, feeling disoriented.

She walked to the outer edge of the dance floor, towards the stage. There was no one there. She was concealed, partly by draping curtains, and partly by the corner of the stage. She leaned against the wall and breathed. It had become hotter than she had thought it would. Or was it just her? She fanned herself and looked out the window in front of her, watching the millions of snow flakes blow across the whitening fields of Hogwarts, the snow flakes that were drifting and fluttering onto the ebony-surfaced lake, hardening it to ice.

"Hullo."

He had snuck up on her quite well; he made her jump.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he said, with a sheepish smile that quickly fell away.

Michael stood, his hands in his pockets, looking quite handsome in his dress robes.

"Hi," Hermione greeted. She smiled. "How are you?"

"I'm good, very good. Looking forward to the holidays," he said, nodding his head. "How about yourself?"

"Very well, thanks," she said, inclining her head. She was wringing her hands.

"That was quite a performance, out there," he said in a low voice. He had moved just a little closer. He didn't seem to talk in a near whisper for fear of being over heard, though. Hermione thought she could sense a pressure on his throat. She swallowed hard. He was very, very intimidating.

"Th-thank you," she said, blushing.

"Looked almost as if," he began, and Hermione's stomach tightened, "Mister Malfoy enjoyed it."

"Oh," she laughed nervously. "He– er, you should have heard the comments he was making to me the entire time. Awful. Did you see my face? I wanted to stalk off right then."

Hermione knew it wasn't right to lie, but she knew it would sound odd to defend Malfoy in any way, or even to not complain about him.

Michael smiled. "You should have."

"It would have been quite a sight."

"I agree," he said, his eyes flickering downwards to the floor and looking back up to her. "But you already are quite a sight, Hermione, so I'm hardly sure any one would notice, really."

"Michael–" she said, in a gasp of breath. Had he just–?

"You're truly beautiful, Hermione Granger," he went on. "Quite a beautiful young lady indeed."

"I–" she tried, but did not succeed to think of something to say.

"Sorry to frazzle you," he said. "You look quite amazing when you are baffled, though, and it's rare, as well. I feel privileged."

Hermione was blushing profusely now, and felt extremely hot. "I . . . Michael, your words are too kind. Take them back, please."

"I wanted to talk to you," he said, ignoring her ridiculous comment. It was clear that he did not think he was too kind, it was clear he thought he was not kind enough. In fact, it seemed as if he had thought that he had done something wrong.

"We are talking right now," she said dumbly, and he smiled that same, perfect, warm smile that she was so used to, and yet tried so hard to forget.

"I wanted to talk to you about what you told me. In the library. Last night."

Hermione felt herself fall a little backward against the window, her bare back touching the icy cold glass. Her hands touched the ledge as she held herself up overtop of her shaky legs. She was sweating and freezing cold at the same time. She lost her voice.

"You said, that you 'felt' . . ." he trailed off, obviously not wanting to insinuate anything incase he was mistaken. "What was it that you 'felt'?"

"I . . . Michael . . . you can't ask me this," she finally said, looking away and shaking her head. He came closer to her, and she looked back at him, freezing where she was.

"Why not?" he said huskily. His hands were out of his pockets, and found hers. "You're freezing."

"Because I said . . . whatever it was . . . I can't think it any more," she explained, not pulling her hands away. His warmth felt good.

"Why not?" he asked her, again. His voice was still low. They were but inches apart.

"Because . . ." but she couldn't think at this point. "Why are you asking me this? Now of all times?"

"Maybe . . ." he began, sighing. "Because maybe I felt . . . too."

Her breath caught in her throat. Was he telling the truth? But of course he was, he wouldn't lie to her. He was Michael Dolop. He was brilliant. He was gorgeous. He was honest. He was holding her hands.

"You are not being serious."

It was more of a demand, then being skeptical. He looked directly into her eyes, and shook his head. He sighed again.

"Don't ask me if I tried to fight it, because I tried harder than you know. And then you tell me . . . out of no where . . ."

"I'm sorry."

It was instinct, and she didn't realize that she was saying it before she did.

"Oh don't be, please don't be sorry," he said, leaning into her just a bit. Just enough for her to move if she wished. She stayed completely still.

"But why not? Look what it's caused . . . me and my mouth . . ."

"Because if you say that you're sorry . . ." he said, into her ear. Her heart was hammering madly. Her breath was coming short. Her hands were limp for fear that if she squeezed his, she would break his fingers. She leaned her head against the window. ". . . it almost sounds like you regret it . . ."

Hermione stiffened. She didn't regret her feelings for Michael. Why would she have? He was nearly perfect. And nothing had happened to make her regret them . . .

"Do you?" he spoke again, into her ear, and she arched her back just slightly.

"No . . ."

"You know . . . it's funny . . . a month ago, I would have killed to talk about this to you in my office, instead of Draco Malfoy."

She was out of his arms before she could remember how she had done it.

"What's wrong? – what have I done? I'm sorry," he said in a rush, backing away.

"It's not you . . . I'm sorry, Michael," she said, looking around. "There's not regret where it should be, but in place of a hand to hold I think that I have found . . . something."

And she began to walk away. Feeling baffled for the first time ever, he said, "What does that mean?"

"It means . . . I'll talk to you later . . ."

"Come to my office . . . ? After the dance . . . ?" he said, with imploring eyes. Feeling torn between commitment to something intangible and guilt and attachment to something that should never materialize, she nodded and shook her head and was off again, leaving a pair of hazel eyes to watch her black dress disappear behind the curtain. Michael leaned his forehead against the cold glass window and his breath fogged it as he swore.

**so how was that? this is only part one of the ball . . lol , the other should be up by nextmonday, I'm hoping. anyways, thanks for reading and please REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW thanks 3**


	18. Of a Tempermental Boy&His Murderous Ways

**I know, I know! It's a couple days late. I'm sorry! I tried to find time, but I literally had none at all. But anyways, here it is. The next one _should_ be quicker, it should be. I make no promises, haha. But don't fret, it shall come. Alright, so read, and please -even though this took too long- review, review, REVIEW:)**

Chapter eighteen – Of a Tempermental Boy and His Murderous Ways

Feeling hot with sweat and a fluttering heart, Hermione rushed through the crowded room and over towards the table full of food once again. She downed three glasses of water, all the time glancing furtively around the room as if he would follow her. But he wouldn't. After all, he had said to come to his office after the dance . . . that was insinuating that they would not see each other for the rest of the evening. But would they? Would she go to his office?

No.

Yes.

No.

Yes.

No.

Hermione shook her head and lifted her dress off of the ground, hurrying through the crowds of dancers, still feeling dazed. He was a twenty-something, attractive, brilliant man . . . and he had an interest in her? Did this type of thing actually happen? Her lower lip slid beneath her teeth and she thought hard, wending in between dancers. She was probably more than likely going in circles, however.

He was her Professor. Her teacher. An educator. It was strictly against policy, against many, many rules . . . if anything were to happen. But nothing would happen. Hermione was a seventeen-year-old girl, filled with nothing but intelligence, logic and bravery. More recently, an unexplainable attraction to a certain platinum blonde, arrogant, self-satisfied and brilliantly intelligent young Slytherin of which she had hated since their first meeting.

Draco Malfoy.

And wasn't it that name, and the memory of their secret time spent together that had torn her from Michael's arms and off to . . . Hermione looked around, frustrated and confused. Where was she going?

But she didn't know.

She continued to walk again. She had to keep moving. Move. Walk. She couldn't run in these shoes, but if she could . . . she would run far. What a mess. But would she run from this mess? Was it a mess? She had one guy, and sure they hated each other for years, and now they couldn't keep away from each other . . . and met up and snogged each other senseless whenever no one was looking . . . and sure her teacher had a romantic interest in her, and she had previously had one in him and couldn't decide if she still did or not . . . and sure she had just yelled at Ginny and was mad at her . . . and sure her two best friends in the entire world hadn't a clue what was going on in her life at the moment . . . or since the beginning of the year . . .

Hermione stopped.

Damn.

It was kind of a mess wasn't it?

She could feel herself flush a white hot and then she felt extremely cold. Her heart raced in her chest, though she stood still, she felt like she had just run a marathon. What was wrong with her? – how could she have lead herself into this situation? Was she that stupid? How could she have ever thought that she was smart? _Smart?_ Yeah right! Look at her!

Hermione felt the room spin around her. The ground tilted.

There was a strong hand gripping her forearm the next moment, through the haze of blackness that she had just nearly escaped. A second later, she breathed fresher, untainted and cooler air. It was quiet, there were only whispers and echoes here. She could not focus yet. She was sitting now, though, and didn't remember how.

"Hermione? – please don't die."

She laughed. "Die? – I was merely – it's awfully hot in there."

Hermione sat forward, and looked at the raven-haired boy beside her. His glasses reflected her pale face.

"Thanks Harry," she said shyly. "That could've been embarrassing."

"I know a little something about fainting, and having the whole school laugh about it, 'Mione," he said, smiling and looking forward. He was bashful. It was cute.

There was a moments' silence, where Hermione tried to stabilize her heart beat before it leapt out her throat and bounced off through the foyer.

"Hermione," Harry said quietly. She looked at him, her hand over her heart.

"Hm?"

"What's wrong?" It seemed to almost pain him to ask, like he was nearly insulting her by assuming that anything could ever break her or upset her.

"Oh just, you know what? – I was so nervous about the dance, more like afraid, really, that I didn't eat all day. It might just be catching up with me," she said in a rush. "How about I go back inside and get some food? – we can go and talk –"

But he shook his head, looking away once again. He sighed. He quite obviously wished to speak to her in the quiet. Hermione wanted to go back into the crowded, loud room. He would not press for personal questions in there.

"Harry, please don't worry about me?" she implored. "I hate to add to the weight on your shoulders."

"You don't weigh a thing, Hermione."

Hermione opened up her mouth to speak, but her eyes misted and she smiled. "Where do you come up with these things?"

"You're no burden, through no stretch of any imagination," he continued. "It won't bother me if you want to talk to me. Even about girl stuff . . . seeing as how you and Gin aren't on the best of terms right now."

"And her finding out that you left her in there all alone to come and fix my life's biggest problems will help that situation any, how?" Hermione ventured a smile with a joke, but his face did not break.

"Life's biggest problems, now is it? I thought it was the lack of food?" he said sagely, his eyebrows lifting.

Hermione sighed and shook her head with a smile. "Harry Potter, you never do cease to amaze me."

"What's been going on with you?" he repeated. "First, you're mad at me and Ron for not spending enough time with you – and don't make that face, 'cause that's exactly what happened – and then you're a ghost! A complete and total ghost. Well, not entirely. You came and seen us a few times in the common room, gone to Hagrid's once or twice, and our little study sessions in the library, and_ then_ you became a ghost. I don't understand it, and I always, well, usually, understand you. You're _Hermione_. You're not supposed to be this hard to read! At least, not for me."

Hermione regarded him with a thoughtful gaze. Since when did he become brilliant? How had he thought of all of this? Had her behavior really been that different that it was so noticeable? – so worthy of so much thought that even Harry had it on his mind?

"Look Harry, things aren't turning out exactly how I thought they would this year, alright?" she admitted sourly. The great Hermione Granger admitted that something had not gone according to her perfectly organized and sought-after plan.

"Like what?" he asked her, as if for justification. It hurt slightly that he wished her to explain herself. Hermione answered in a high tone.

"Like me and Ron. We were supposed to be together . . . and then that all changed. Well," she sighed, "I changed. Which is fine, him and I are better off being friends, honestly. And then, there's being Head Girl – that was supposed to be a dream. And then Dr– ugh, ugh, sorry . . . Malfoy happened. And then I just . . ." Hermione trailed off, knowing the limitations of what she should and should not divulge.

"No offense Hermione, but if that's all, then . . . you're making something out of nothing." Harry observed her through his emerald eyes and his lip twitched, as if he was nervous of nearly insulting her. But Hermione attempted through different means to get out of this conversation.

"You're right, I am, I should just suck it up. Let's go inside now," she said, standing. Harry yanked her back into place and quirked his brow.

"So this is how I know, that there is more. There's no way you would crumble over this."

"_Crumble?_"

"Yes, _crumble_," he imitated her voice. "You almost fainted in the middle of the dance floor, and you blamed it on not eating. Hermione, in third year I saw you eat a total of three times, and you never once fainted."

She laughed grudgingly, remembering her frantic time-turning days.

"Yes well . . ."

She looked up at him. She wanted to tell Ginny, but how would that work? First, Ginny would call her a dirty traitor and an idiot, regarding Malfoy, and then second she would call her a hypocrite regarding Michael. So, in fear of deeply disappointing her only girl friend and losing her respect, she would not tell her.

But was it safe to tell Harry? One word about she and Malfoy kissing, and he would fall over laughing. Actually, a story about them having a good conversation would probably blow his mind right out his ears.

"Harry, it's not exactly something I can explain. Well, I mean, my feelings. It's hard. I know you want to help, you _always_ want to help. And I appreciate it so much. But, listen. I was just taking on too much, alright? I mean, with all of the classes I am taking, and being Head Girl, and being absolutely obsessed over perfection over every last detail, and on top of that, everything with you, Ron, Ginny, Malfoy and Mich – just with all of you and plus school and everything, it's just stress," she said, turning slightly redder as he looked at her. "I'm sorry if you don't believe me, but it's the truth."

And it was. With classes, homework, everything with her friends and now Malfoy and just now with Michael, she was lucky her brain hadn't exploded.

"I do believe you, 'Mione," he said earnestly. "You wouldn't lie to me."

Hermione's heart sank. Sure, she was not out-right lying to his face, but she _was_ hiding more than enough from her closest friends. She swallowed and smiled nervously.

"Please, let's go back inside . . . besides . . . what time is it?" she said, standing.

Harry checked his watch. "Quarter passed eleven."

"I've got rounds in fifteen minutes," she informed him, offering a helping hand as he grunted and stood.

"Alright," he replied. "Don't pull any more fainting spells, okay? I can't handle any more than one heart attack per night."

"I s'pose Ginny provides heart attacks the rest of the nights, then?" Hermione said cheekily.

Harry smiled and reddened a little bit.

"Watch it," he said.

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Her rounds went perfectly well, and surprisingly she did not see Malfoy once since they had agreed to meet near the balcony at 12. It was nearly three minutes passed and she looked round the deserted area carefully. It wouldn't be too hard to make up a reason as to why she was standing here alone to a passerby, but it would probably ruin her and Malfoy's chances of meeting in private.

"Been busy?"

Hermione turned around, her loose ringlets following her head. She smiled awkwardly.

"What was that?"

She regarded Draco Malfoy's reddened cheeks with interest. She wasn't used to seeing much color in his face.

"I said, 'have you been busy'?"

It wasn't a coldness in his voice, more indifference than anything else.

"What d'you mean?" she said, her brow twisting.

"I seen him. He snuck up right behind you, he did, right after you walked away from me. He seen us, you know – talking," he added to calm her panicked expression. It didn't seem to relax her much as he ploughed on, though. "He practically ran after you. What'd he say?"

Hermione, her heart revving up once again, felt a painful rush of red spread onto her face once again. Seeing this, Malfoy's face hardened and his voice stiffened.

"I'll kill him."

"Draco!" she scolded. "Don't say such things!"

"What'd he say to you? – to make you red like that?" he repeated.

Hermione sighed.

"Well, I don't want to tell you now," she said honestly.

"Oh I won't kill him," he said impatiently. "Probably."

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked down at her feet. "He said . . . that he had feelings for me . . ."

There was a silence, and when Hermione looked up, Draco's eyes were narrowed and his head was pulled back slightly.

"He said that to you," he repeated. "To your face. He said he had _feelings for you_? I thought all this time the two of you were only friends."

"Well, yes," Hermione said. She blinked. "He said . . . that he, well, he mentioned something about a month ago . . . so I guess since then?"

"Hermione, this is ridiculous. I thought he had something going on, with all a whole lot of other girls or something? Didn't you say? – that a whole lot of girls are after him?"

"Oh, please. Are you serious? 'All those other girls' are not . . . they're just, Idunno. He's definitely not interested. I'm pretty sure I'm the only . . . well, the only . . . Idunno, the only girl he's interested in here, I think," Hermione stuttered, surprised he wasn't as mad as she had thought he would be.

"What'll the redhead girl say, then, eh? The little Weasely?" he quipped.

Hermione stared. "How did you know about that?"

"You told me!"

Hermione's eyes widened. Had she? "No, I didn't. I've never talked to you about him before, or anything related to him, or any of the problems he has caused me."

"What are you going on about!" Draco said, exasperated. "You're making no sense."

"You're the one not making any sense!"

"Look, the point is, I seen him, drag you off. Practically ran towards you, right after we talked, well a few minutes later," said Draco. "He seen us talking, looked right at us, that's why I hurried you off."

Hermione shook her head and looked at him. "Drag me off –? What're you _talking _about?"

"You walked off from me, a few minutes later I saw you on the dance floor, walking round, then Scar-head came and grabbed you, and dragged you off!"

"Who?" Hermione said, staring. "_Harry?_"

"Yeah, who else–?" Draco stopped. "Wait, wait, wait. Who did you _think_ I was talking about?"

Hermione looked away, half ready to laugh, half ready to run.

"Hermione."

"I–"

Hermione looked at him, and then, as if he knew directly upon eye contact, he said. "Dolop. Dolop talked to you? Tonight? Just now? Where is he? Potter, he's got a few pals, but I'm certain every bloke round here hates Dolop just as much as me. It won't matter if I kill _him_."

"Draco!" Hermione pleaded, as he stalked off. She picked up her dress and chased after him. "Draco, please! I walked away from him! I told him no!"

Draco stopped and spun around. Sighing in relief, Hermione stopped as well to breathe a moment.

"Told him no to what?" he said suspiciously. "Told him no to what? What'd he ask you?"

"Ugh!" Hermione threw her hands up in the air. "Look, I'm not going to talk to you like this. This is ridiculous."

"You know what, whatever," Draco snapped. He turned around and walked off again.

"Where are you going!"

"To kill Dolop!" he shouted back, not stopping nor stuttering.

"You'll never find his office!"

"Oh, I'll find him."

"Fine, go ahead. Go ahead and kill him," Hermione said, waving after him smiling hysterically. "Good luck!"

And he disappeared behind the corner. She shook her head.

"Idiot."

0O0O0O0O0O0OO0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

The Ball ended on a pleasant note, minus Hermione's falling out with Ginny and Draco, about an hour and a half later. She had not seen Draco since their argument, but she wasn't worried. She was certain that only she knew where his office was. After all, she had never once seen any other person going there or heard any other person talking of it. And she was sure that if any other girl had been there, they would have told everyone.

The room cleared up nicely. The band was paid and left. At about quarter to two in the morning, there was only a group of about twenty left in the room, using their wands to take down streamers, clear up the food, the tables, carpets, snow, fairies, garbage and everything else. Hermione was working on the stage curtains when she noticed Harry waiting by the door. This made her realize that Ginny and Ron were somewhere in this room with her.

She looked round, and sure enough, there they were, working together and chatting. She approached them, fiddling with her wand.

"Good job," she sad quietly, ashamed of her actions.

They both turned, obviously not recognizing her voice when it was so low. Ron smiled, but Ginny simply turned back around and continued to work.

"Thanks, 'Mione," he said. "Er, nice job on the dance."

"Really?" Hermione asked plainly. She would have thought his reaction much like Harry's.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I admire how you didn't throw up all over him. Nicely done."

Hermione laughed, and set her eyes on Ginny.

"Ginny, listen," she said. She didn't turn around. "I'm sorry?"

She turned around quickly. "Really? Well, that just makes everything better. Thanks."

And she turned back around and began waving her wand again.

"Look, you're right, it's not all Head's stuff . . . and about–" with a furtive glance at Ron, she said, "that other thing, I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid you'd be upset."

Ginny's wand stopped moving and she lowered her arm. Ron looked more confused than ever. She finally turned around.

"Okay, so, maybe that's how I am," she admitted grudgingly. "It just bothered me that you didn't tell me."

"I know, it bothered me too," Hermione said truthfully.

"Okay, so, look," Ginny said, her lips forming a small grin. "How about I'm sorry?"

Hermione laughed. "Sounds good."

"Okay," she nodded. "Now get back to work, please," she snapped.

Hermione looked at her.

"Er . . ." Ginny glanced towards the door. "I, er, just wanted to get this all done quick . . ."

"Just go," Hermione said, smiling. "Hurry up, go. This won't take much longer."

Without another word, Ginny lifted her dress and walked quickly towards the door. She grabbed Harry's arm and they disappeared down the hallway. Hermione smiled.

"Yeah, it's cute, when it's not your sister," Ron said, grimacing.

"Oh?" Hermione said, turning to face him. "You'd rather Harry sullen and depressed and Ginny off with some seventh year Ravenclaw?"

Ron looked torn.

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When the Ballroom was spotless, the band had been paid, the fairies sent back to their owners, and the teachers satisfied with everything, Hermione took off her shoes and headed back to her dorm room, looking forward to the Saturday morning that lie ahead of her.

"Mm, I get to sleep in tomorrow," she said to herself, letting her hair down as she climbed the steps.

She passed a dusty corridor and stopped. She was five minutes away from his office. Five minutes away from confronting him and what he had said, what he had claimed. All she had to do was turn right and find that familiar door, walk into that familiar door, and see that familiar smile . . . After all, what was wrong with him? He was sweet, thoughtful, nice, smart, respectful, forward yet cautious, and he was gorgeous but not cocky. He was perfect.

But he was twenty-four. He was her teacher and Draco hated him.

Wait, why should she care if Draco hated him?

Hermione was trying to fool herself, but it wasn't working too well. Gnawing on her lower lip, she turned towards the long hallway and wondered vaguely what it would be like to kiss him, wondered what it would be like for her lips to meet his, to wrap her arms around his strong, broad shoulder and for him to kiss her back. She felt wrong just imagining it.

Hermione turned on her heel and continued to walk to her dorm. She had told Draco that she had said no to him, and though he didn't know what for, she believed that going to Michael's office at two in the morning after she and Draco had fought was no way to get onto his good side. Oh well, she thought with a sour humor, Draco had probably killed him anyway.

As she pushed the door open and met the familiar warmth of the common room when the fire was lit, she wasn't surprised to find Draco standing directly in front of the door.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione held up her hand with her shoes in it and said, "Look, I really don't care that you killed him and all, but just tell me he's not strung up in the bathroom. I wanted to take nice hot bath."

"Ha, ha," Draco replied dryly. "Aren't you hilarious."

"Well," she said, crossing her arms. "How d'you expect me to be? – with you acting like a fool."

"Me?" he said, standing up straighter. "Dolop's the one whose gone and said he's got a crush on you. He's the fool."

"So it takes a fool to like me now, does it?" she said, raising her eyebrow.

"I never said I wasn't a fool."

They looked at each other and Draco smiled.

"Come on, smile," he coaxed her.

"No, you were a total git to me tonight," she huffed, walking passed him. "Blowing up on me like I was the one who did something wrong!"

"How d'you 'spect me to act when that stupid –" Draco stopped. "I can't help it."

"Yes you can," Hermione corrected him. "You just don't try."

"Oh so now you're going to lecture me about reacting calmly and rationally?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "When you slapped me in the face for insulting that big chicken bird?"

"Chicken bird! Huh!" Hermione scoffed, almost laughing. "Buckbeak is a Hippogriff, and one of the finest creatures there is."

"Except me, of course."

"Oh, that's rich," she said, rolling her eyes and continuing to walk on.

"Are you honestly mad at me?" he shouted as she stormed up the stairs.

"No! This is how I act when I'm happy!" she shouted back. "Moron!"

"Oh, where are you going?" he asked, throwing his hands in the air and walking towards her as she went.

"I'm taking a hot bath–"

"–Care for some company?–"

"–and I'm locking both doors."

Hermione slammed her door behind her and threw her shoes down, seething.

"Hermione!" she heard him call. "You know I can easily unlock that door, right?"


	19. Of a Letter and an Odd Encounter

Chapter Nineteen - Of a Letter and a an Odd Encounter

Hermione woke clearly and quite oriented on Saturday morning, later than 9AM for the first time in a long time. She smiled as she looked at the clock. 11:00AM. Very nice. She finally felt rested, and as the thought of a school-free two weeks in front of her caused her smile to reach her toes, she stretched and rolled onto her stomach. It took her another moment of stretching to fully wake and realize that someone had woken her up, and she hadn't simply faded back into reality.

She looked round the room. Crookshanks was nowhere to be seen, and you could usually spot him quickly. She sat up, noticing her hair was still a tad damp from her bath the evening previous. Just as she was about to fall back onto her bed, she heard it again; a sharp rapping at her window. At first, she thought _Draco_, but then realized, it was her window. Unless he had suddenly wanted to fly round on his broom, it definitely wasn't him. So, an owl?

The slight curiosity – and excitement that derived from said curiosity – was enough to put her warm feet onto the cold floor and travel the short distance across the room without complaint. She opened the window after the lock had been unfastened, flinching at the bitter cold gust of wind that brushed by her, and let the owl in. After shutting the window with a quick _snap_ of the window and a short twist and _click_ of the lock, she turned to see the owl. It fluttered around for a mere second or two, and then landed gracefully on her bookcase. It wasn't an overly-large owl, like Draco's eagle owl, or as snowy white as Hedwig, Harry's owl, or precisely-small, as had Ron's once been either. It was just medium-sized. He was brownish-yellowish, with a white tummy and deep, deep, black and green eyes. He looked aged and wise and noble the way he was perched on the shelf, ironically next to all of her most intellectually stimulating books. His beak was a similar brown to his feathers, Hermione noticed, as he nibbled on the interior of his right wing.

Hermione had never seen this owl before.

There was a scroll of parchment attached to his left leg, so she reached out and untied it slowly, trying to figure out who it could be from before she opened it. The owl's stance was confident, yet not lacking in respect and humbleness. As Hermione lightly brushed the side of his face with her index and middle finger, he tilted his head and fluttered his wings. Hermione smiled. It was a cute little thing.

The parchment gave away nothing to whom the writer may be when it was still tied. A stupid thing to observe, but Hermione was not trying to impress the owl. She pulled the red string and unrolled the letter. She recognized the handwriting, but still, she did not realize right away who it was from.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I hope the rest of your evening went well _(at this point, Hermione not only knew who it was from, but gasped softly and gripped the parchment more tightly than before)_ and I was hoping that maybe I would have gotten the chance to talk to you in person, last night, before I had left this morning. This might work better, who knows? By now, you have probably sensed ulterior motives lining this letter. _

_I cannot say honestly that I am not completely unembarrassed of my actions, my words . . . my thoughts. I had simply thought to cherish a hope that honesty would best be utilized with you, as you yourself could not help but feeling compelled by honesty whenever speaking with me. I do not like to admit that I am wrong often – hopefully you do not think of this as pompous but simply a small case of shamefulness-come-easy – but I will admit it to you. I was wrong. Another thing, I don't like to apologize. But I apologize to you. I'm sorry, truly. _

_I hope that I have not offended you, in any way. We were supposed to be friends, and I had no right to say what I said, or do what I did. The Ball was supposed to be a good night for you, as you had spent so much time and effort preparing it and for it -- so much time, in fact, it greatly limited our time together – and I feel as if I might have ruined it. I do not wish such things upon you, actually, it is the opposite. _

_Regardless, I knew as I woke this morning – well, actually, I did not sleep – and packed my bags, and boarded the ever-welcoming Hogwarts Express, that I would have to write you and explain. I knew in my gut, that an explanation would be necessary. For you see, what I had told you, or nearly told you, or what you have understood of __**this situation **_(words were darker here, as they were written over other words that Hermione could no perceive. They were also deepened in the page, as if he had either gone over them many times, written them especially hard, or spent a lot of time writing them) _might lead you to believe certain things. _

_Whatever you have understood, it is probably right in your thoughts. You are an exceptionally intelligent young woman, and I would not rob you of your dignity by challenging your logic and basic instinct. I know that you now know of my feelings, and recent or not as yours seem to have been, you need not worry of them if it does not suit you._

_Forgive me for this rambling, this long, long letter, and my ever evading logic and sense that I have seem to have left behind in my desk, but I couldn't but help to wonder, and in the midst of wondering, I wrote this letter. _

_Awaiting your reply,_

_sincerely and regrettably in sorrow and apologies,_

_Michael Dolop _

Half-expecting it to be sealed with a kiss, Hermione turned the parchment over and checked. Embarrassed a moment later by her stupidity and vainness, she bashfully looked at the owl perched on her bookcase. How would she even know if he had sealed it with a kiss, unless he took a sudden liking to lipstick? And why would she expect him to, anyway? – he wasn't obsessed with her, they were friends, as he had emphasized.

_. . . we were supposed to be friends . . ._

Isn't that how he had phrased it? She read it over once more. And yes, that was how he had phrased it, indeed. Oh, Merlin.

Hermione finally realized, in the process of laying down and curling up in her still-warm blankets, that she must have sat down at some point during the letter.

She lay and stare and her headboard for a while, mulling over the contents of the letter. It was, just as he had said, a long, long letter, and a lot of it was jabber and rambling. Well, an apology for his blunt actions had been incorporated in there as well. Did she accept? After all, _hadn't_ he ruined her evening? He had caused the fight between herself and Draco. That, essentially, had irked her more than anything. Draco and his idiotic antics. And she had indeed spent a lot of her time on this Ball. It had taken a lot of preparation.

Michael had told her he had feelings for her, or did. She assumed that he still did, reminiscing upon their encounter in private. He had wanted to . . . to what? – kiss her? Would he have? If she hadn't relented? Would she have kissed him back? Hermione pondered these things and decided she wouldn't have. He was a teacher. She a student. He was much older than she. She was . . . well, there was Draco, and she was not an especially fickle character in the game of love. In other words, one boy she was kissing was more than enough, especially if that boy was Draco Malfoy.

As if sensing her thoughts, there was a knocking at the door.

"I know you're mad and everything, but I just thought I'd check if you were dead?" he called through the door. He waited. She smiled slightly, rolled over onto her side, and placed her eyes on the door. "Yes? Dead?"

Hermione laughed softly to herself, and she could almost see his raised eyebrows and his cute, little, apologetic face.

"Look, if you're dead then I'm just wasting my breath, aren't I? – but if you're not, then you're still mad enough to ignore me while I talk to your door," he continued. "So which is it?"

Hermione sighed as she got off of her bed and walked slowly towards the door. She placed her hand on the doorknob, but paused as she heard him say something else.

"Hermione," he said, almost imploring. She heard him sigh.

Hermione opened the door. He was pouting a little bit. It was the most adorable thing she had ever seen.

"Morning," she said, trying not to smile.

He continued to pout, making his lip stick out just a little bit. Hermione crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe.

"Look I know you want me to say I'm sorry, but I'm not going to because I didn't do anything wrong. All I was doing was trying to kill Dolop. My fault? Nope. If you should be mad, which you shouldn't, you should be mad at him. You should be so mad at him that you never want to talk to him again, actually. That's what I would do. I think that's what you should do. Have some self-respect, how about? And on top of that, you yelled at me last night and walked off with no kiss or nothing, just because I was trying to defend you. After all, you can't just go around sneaking up on girls like that and – and – look, that's it. I'm not sorry," he finished, staring at her, confused by her silence.

She raised her eyebrows.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. How's that? Happy now?"

Hermione smiled.

"You know," she said, almost laughing. "I didn't really want you to apologize."

Draco narrowed his eyes, but playfully. "Then what did you want? – standing there staring me down like that?"

"I just wanted to see if you'd do that pouting thing again with your lips," she answered, using her index finger to touch his lower lip and pull it down slightly. He stared, his mouth gaping open, his eyebrows raised.

"Oh rilly?" he said, his mouth still open. She pulled her hand away. He stuck out his lip and tried to look sad. Hermione giggled. She leaned forward and kissed him softly, but as she pulled away he leaned into her and deepened the kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he started walking towards her, so she backed up. Hermione was only slightly surprised when they ended up sitting on her bed, their lips never parting.

Hermione relished in his lips, his hands, his hair, his eyes, his body, his truly cute and sincere apology and let him lower her just slightly onto her bed. Her hands searched through his hair, her fingers slipping through the silky white-blondness. Hermione raised her hands above her head, only to feel a crisp, thin piece of parchment. _The letter_.

Rolling over in panic, she ended up on top of Draco, and she flicked the blankets so that the letter ended up on the floor beneath a pillow.

"Whoa," said Draco, looking up at her. "Looks like you missed me, too."

Hermione blushed profusely and rolled off of him quickly.

"Hey, hey, hey. Never said I didn't like it when you missed me," he said, sitting up with her and leaning towards her neck with his lips. He kissed her ear a little bit and she smiled and looked down.

"How about you let me get dressed, and we can get started on our holiday homework," she said, standing up.

He stared at her, still stationary with his lips out and parted. He stood. "You're not kidding, are you?"

She shrugged. "_Or_, I could stay in here alone, and do it alone, and you can go away and do yours alone."

"Oh, you're an evil little piece of work, aren't you?" he said, narrowing his eyes. "You like to play all nice and generous and sweet, but then you roll on top of me like that and tell me to go away."

Hermione laughed.

"Well, if we get all the homework done before Christmas," she said, moving towards him and wrapping her arms around his waist. "We will have all the rest of the holidays to relax."

He seemed just a little clueless for a moment. "Oh, so you're saying if I do my homework then we can do what_ I_ want to do?"

"Nice try," she said. "But we'll see."

And then she pushed him to the door. Just as she closed it, he stuck his head back inside and said, "I almost forgot."

"What?" Hermione said impatiently. "You're not sitting in here while I change, that's–"

He leaned forward and kissed her quickly and then pulled back, said, "If I could've found his bloody office, you wouldn't be seeing much more of him, you know" and left. Hermione shut the door and smiled, rolling her eyes.

She dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans and navy blue t-shirt and a green pullover. She sat down on the bed to pull on her socks. When she was done she made her bed. Seeing the letter on the floor she snatched it up and walked towards the mirror.

She looked at herself. Should she write him back? What would she even say?

"Hermione, do you want breakfast or lunch?" Draco hollered.

"Brunch," she replied.

"You can't just make up words, Hermione," he shouted back. "It's only just confusing."

She laughed.

She walked towards the door and opened it. "You've never heard of brunch, ever? Seriously?"

And she exited the room, tossing the letter into the waste basket as she went.

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Christmas eve was accompanied by another large snowfall, and it was still snowing by ten o'clock that evening when Hermione looked out of the library windows. There were a couple of other students in the library, reading and doing their own holiday assignments. With the regular librarian on holidays, Hermione dared to have a piece of Christmas chocolate as she read.

"No eating in the library, naughty little Gryffindor girly."

A voice whispered right behind her. Why did Draco always have to do this? – there were other people in the library; someone was bound to see this type of behavior if he kept on. But, nonetheless, it was cute that he would risk it, it felt dangerous. She didn't like to follow the rules all the time.

"You know what?" she whispered inconspicuously, not turning around. She closed her book, smiling, and continued, "You're not exactly one to talk, you've been quite a naughty Slytherin as well."

And she turned, and her smile fell. She stood. "Blaise?"

"I've been a naughty Slytherin, have I?" he asked, looking quite pleased.

Hermione grimaced.

"What are you doing?" she sneered.

"Well, I was telling you off for eating chocolate, and then you started coming on to me," he replied, moving closer to her. She backed away another step.

"Oh, please," she scoffed, turning and heading towards an isle.

"Well, didn't you specifically say naughty _Slytherin_?" he confirmed. "Who else could you have been talking about?"

Hermione was glad that she was not facing him, because her bright red cheeks were betraying her. "Go away, Blaise."

"Granger," he said, rounding in front of her. They were now in the middle of the isle, concealed from all other eyes but their own. "Come on girl, why do you have to play so hard to get?"

"I'm not playing anything," she said, feeling uncomfortable by his arms encasing her in between the shelf and his body. "You are just too stupid."

"Well, maybe you could enlighten me," he said, as if he was trying to seduce her.

"Blaise, just stay away from me, okay?" she implored, feeling helpless and frustrated.

"I like it when you beg," he continued, smirking. It wasn't like Draco's smirk at all. It didn't remind her of cute, arrogant arguments or statements or funny moments, it reminded her of a sneering gargoyle. He was, no doubt, a handsome boy. But when he smiled, it twisted his face into an ugly thing, as if only the darkest, or most crude thoughts could bring him pleasure. Hermione didn't doubt it.

As he leaned in, to kiss her probably, she held her book as a protective barrier from his lips in front of his face.

"Blaise! Stop it!" she hissed, trying to break through his arms. He was stronger. And persistent.

"Granger," he said, whilst pushing the book downward. "Don't argue, okay? It bothers me."

"Yeah? Well when disgusting, creeping Slytherin boys like you try to touch me against my will, it bothers me!"

Their voices were still hushed, as they both didn't want to draw any attention from the few readers a few feet away.

Blaise crushed her against the shelf and she would've shrieked out of surprise or a cry for help, but he covered her mouth. "Don't ever insult me."

"Hey Blaise –"

A voice at the end of the isle caused him to loosen his grip and turn his head.

"What the hell?"

Draco stared in disbelief at his friend and Hermione as she slipped under his arms and ran towards Draco. She gave him a significant look as she ran passed him. It wouldn't look right if she ran into his arms right in front of Blaise.

Blaise ran his fingers through his hair and smirked. Draco glared at his friend.

"She's a fine little piece, eh?" Blaise said.

"What the hell were you doing to– with her?" Draco said, attempting to appear inquisitive and annoyed, and confused, rather than angry and violent.

"Oh, you know. A little this, a little that. She's a fun little ball of fire, that one," he replied vaguely, now walking towards his friend with a swagger.

"What exactly does that mean, Blaise?" Draco inquired.

"She may act like a little princess, all smart and geeky or whatever. But you get her alone, she can get frisky," he said. This might have not been an entire lie, but it was in Blaise' case. Hermione would never touch him in a million years, even Draco knew that.

"Liar," Draco spat.

"What?" he said. "It's true."

"No, it's not," he repeated, giving no reason for his argument.

"Look, man," he said, looking annoyed. "You may live with her, but if you're mad because you were too much of a git to _try_ anything, that's not my fault. You don't automatically get her just because you live with her. I told you. I told you and I told you. She's a fine piece of ass and I went for it. You can just cool off, and stop arguing with me. Don't be mad just because I got somewhere you could never get."

Pictures from the previous two months flashed through his mind and his blood boiled. Blaise may have been a jerk, but he was right about one thing, Draco needed to cool off. He couldn't say anything that would incriminate himself. Or hurt Hermione.

"Get her?" her repeated. So Blaise thought she was some toy, some _thing_? This irked him more than anything. "Whatever, Blaise. You say your shanking Granger, whatever. That's great. Good for you."

"Granger?" he repeated. "What happened to _the filthy little mudblood that no one would find worth looking at_? Eh?"

Hermione wasn't filthy, or a mudblood, and he loved to look at her. Hearing the repetition of his lesser of intelligent words made his stomach turn over slightly. Hermione wasn't someone for a guy like Blaise to use and take advantage of. She was someone to be treated with respect and cherished and to be kissed. Draco walked away from his raven-haired house-mate in a bad mood, in search of Hermione.

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Hermione splashed a ice cold water over her face for the third time and then finally dried her face. It wasn't her fault. She was just sitting there reading, it wasn't her fault in any way. Blaise was . . . not normal. He was a creep, coming up behind her and whispering into her ear. Creepy if she ever knew what it was. Sure, she had though it had been Draco, because she hadn't realized that any other person would behave that way towards her, and it had been her mistake to talk before she had known who it was, but that was not in comparison to what he had done. He had followed her and tried to kiss her.

She shuddered.

Coming down into the common room, she realized how odd it would have looked to Draco, rounding the corner of the bookcase to find her pressed up against Blaise Zabini. She hoped he didn't think anything of it. But of course he wouldn't. That would be absurd.

_Just about as absurd as you and Draco?_

Hermione laughed to herself.

She wondered if Draco had gotten angry with him? But he wouldn't do that. It would be like directly admitting that he cared about her and vice versa. They weren't to do that, neither of them. They needed to be prudent and attentive with this secret. Their secret. No one was to know. After all, Hermione didn't even know what to do with it. So they were attracted to each other. So they liked to kiss. So they liked to be around each other and talk and laugh. So what?

Hermione laughed again.

She silenced herself as the portrait swung open and Draco entered, looking angry and annoyed. Oh no. He thought that she had done something with Blaise. She stood immediately.

"Look, Draco, I know what you saw. And you saw it all wrong, I promise," she blurted. Draco rounded the coffee table a few feet in front of her. "Blaise is a creep. Disgusting. Never, ever– mph!"

Draco had grabbed a hold of her and his lips came crashing down on her own. She tried to pull away, to ask what he was doing, where he had been, and whether or not he had talked to Blaise, but he wouldn't allow her lips to separate from his. She eventually gave in to the kiss, falling back down onto the couch as he lay over top of her.

The kiss may have been Draco, it may have been passionate, but it was something else. Fiery, forceful, blatant, angry.

After another few minutes, Hermione needed air. She pulled away from Draco and sat up.

"What? No fun?" he asked, looking like he was trying to be kidding, but he appeared serious.

"No, lots of fun," she assured him. "But, Draco, what is wrong with you? What happened with Blaise, if anything?"

"Nothing. He said he was getting around with you, I said no, he said yes, I said he can believe whatever he wants, and that was it," he replied with a scowl. "Oh, and he had the nerve to say that you were something to get dibs on. Like an inanimate object or something. Then I left."

Hermione tried not to smile. "You know, you don't have to worry about sticking up for me, especially to him."

"What about to Dolop?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"You won't need to do that either," she said, thinking vaguely of the letter that remained upstairs in her trash.

"And why not?" he snapped, as if it were an insult to him.

"Because the only person's opinion I care about, toward me in that way, is yours. And I would never in a million years kiss Blaise or Dolop or any other guy if you were sitting right here, looking so mad because they tried something with me," she replied, moving towards his end of the couch.

Looking shocked he said, "Never?"

"Never ever," she replied, kissing his soft, swollen lips.

"That's good to know," he said, with fake relief that Hermione perceived to be a little deeper than he let on.

"Yeah," she whispered. She then straddled his waist. "And I would never do this with them, either."

Draco raised his eyebrows so high they disappeared into his hair. "Oh?"

"And I would never do this, either," she said, her hands running over his bare chest after fumbling with the buttons for a few moments.

Draco found her wrists with his hands and followed her hands.

"Hermione," he breathed.

"You know, I wouldn't do this either," she said, lowering herself onto him and kissing him fiercely.

After they pulled apart, he said, "What else wouldn't you do?"

Hermione laughed. "Not much."

"Of course," he said, rolling his eyes.

She punched him. "Watch it, or there'll be a whole lot of things I wouldn't do."

"Alright, alright. I'm watching it," he said. He pulled her back down into the kiss.


	20. Of Gifts and Decisions

Chapter twenty – Of Gifts and Decisions

Hermione furrowed her brow and frowned as she awoke the next morning. The first thing she felt was the smooth leather that was touching her skin. The next thing she saw was a deep brown-colored, oak wood table-leg. And a granite setting for a fireplace, and a roaring fire emitting heat that she appreciated. And then a white tassel that belonged to an intricately designed rug. Where was she? She was not in her bed, or in her room. She was . . . in the common room? Why?

It took her another moment to realize that there were arms wrapped around her from behind and her heart began to rattle madly inside her chest until she finally remembered: she had fallen asleep on the couch with Draco the evening previous.

She wondered vaguely how the fire had kept up all through the night, but only shrugged it off. She smiled to herself and looked round the room. It was early, she could tell that much. The light pouring in from the high windows was grey and bleak – the type of light that resulted from an early snowfall and a sunless sky. Hermione looked down to her waist, where Draco's pale hand limply lay. It wasn't that pale, she thought. It wasn't really a color at all. He was more . . . luminescent. He was everything and nothing . . . but mostly everything. She could feel his chest rising and falling slowly against her back, and his mouth was right at her ear. He was softly snoring, breathing slowly.

She thought briefly for a moment, about the first day they had seen each other – and I mean the _very first day_. When that day had come, she had thought nothing but what a bad person Draco Malfoy was. How evil he was, cruel, malicious, hopeless, arrogant. She had never once thought that he was good-looking, or smart, cunning, or decisive. It had never occurred to her that he could be so wise, observant or thoughtful, or funny. She never would have believed that he could make her laugh, and in a good way. And most of all, she never would have thought, six years ago, that she would one day wake up in his arms.

So, this was it, she decided. This was it for her. Her perfection, her place, her Eden. Here in his arms, his breath kissing the nape of her neck, his arms around her to keep her safe, his humor and wit to keep her smiling, and his true and sincere words to keep her sane when she came close to the edge, his fight and his protectiveness to defend her, and his hands to hold her own, to keep her grounded, his feet to keep her on her own and dancing when appropriate, and his lips to make her feel better, to make her miss him, or want him, or think of him, or dream of him. This was it, this was her all, this was her decision, however subconscious it may have been.

When she smiled, when she felt her heart flutter, when she felt the goosebumps rise and spread, it was like a kiss to seal the deal. Again, she didn't plan or notice this.

"What are you thinking about?" Draco grumbled, his voice shocking in her ear.

"What?" she answered, caught off guard.

"How come you're up so early?" He changed his question.

"Dunno, we fell asleep pretty early last night. What woke you?"

Draco smiled, and she could feel his lips against her neck. "The thumping in your chest."

Hermione blushed. She knew that her thoughts had fueled her heartbeat, but she didn't think that, even in such close quarters, it could wake Draco. "Sorry."

"No worries. You better not have been thinking about Potter though," he added as an after thought.

Hermione laughed. "No, no. Don't worry about that."

"Good."

"I was thinking about Snape."

"Whatever floats your boat," he replied with a sigh.

Hermione giggled. "What if I had been?"

"Well, then that would be two teachers I would be killing–"

"–Draco–!"

"–and then I'd be sent to Azkaban, because though one murder may not be that difficult to accomplish without being caught, two may be tricky. And then you'd never see me again. So if that's what you want to happen–"

"You have quite an imagination."

"You know what else I was imagining?" he said in a low voice, his lips on her earlobe.

"Christmas!" Hermione yelped, jumping up. Draco stared at her.

"Not exactly."

"No, it's Christmas morning!" she repeated, smiling wildly.

"Oh. Right. Happy Christmas, then," he said, sitting up and throwing off the small flannel blanket that they had cuddled up in. He rubbed his eyes. "So do you want to go to the Great Hall for breakfast or–?"

But Hermione had taken off up to her room. She threw open the door and witnessed a fairly large pile of gifts at the end of her bed. She smiled. "Do you want to come and open these with me?" she hollered down to Draco, through her open door.

"No, I'm going to get started on mine."

So Hermione reached down and opened the first one. It was from Mrs. Weasely. Once again, a lovely, hand-knitted sweater, with a large 'H' on the front and some home-made fudge. She tried a piece and set the rest aside for later. She folded the sweater and set that aside as well. The next present was wrapped in twine and brown paper, and she was right as she guessed it was from Hagrid when she opened it to find a fold-up mirror with teeth. It was nice, but she would try it out later . . . maybe she would ask Draco to try it out first . . .

From Harry she received a book about imagery in the Wizarding world (about turning words into pictures in any book) which she found amazing, and decided to try later when she got the chance. From Ron, a calligraphy set with fancy pens and paper, which she also appreciated. From her parents she received some clothing, and she liked that a lot because she wasn't able to shop for things like that while at Hogwarts. They also wrote her a lengthy letter that she would sit down to later, as well.

She pulled out a box next that shocked her. It was small and rectangular. When she unwrapped the red and gold wrapping paper, she found it was a black box with hinges on one side. It looked oddly like it held . . . but no, surely not. She opened it and her lips parted in awe. A thin silver chain, growing larger and larger as it neared the center. And at the center, a sparkling blue jewel. It was elegant, and when she took it out of the box, she could tell it was real. She looked at the inside of the box, and the top part of it read _Elixir of Enchantments _and beneath that _Happy Holidays_. As she looked to the bottom, there was a tiny folded note. It was short. She read it quickly.

_Have the Happiest of Christmas'. _

_From your good and true friend, _

_Michael. _

She put the note back into the box where she had found it. She placed the necklace back in the box as well, not even tempted to wear it. She closed the box and walked over to her desk. She opened the top drawer and placed it at the back. She closed the drawer and walked back to her bed and sighed. She gathered the wrappings and threw it into the trash.

She was surprised to see that she had missed one. It was a small, heavy box wrapped in silver with a white ribbon and small bow. She took the bow of carefully and untied the ribbon. She ripped of the paper and came to a plain white box. She slipped off the lid and smiled widely. A thin bottle of pure white, silver liquid swirling inside. _Very Vanilla_. She knew who it was from, without reading the note.

_Sorry for smashing your other one, never knew they were so expensive. _

_Draco._

She got dressed in blue jeans and a plain green tee. She wrapped a colored scarf around her neck twice and let it hang in the back and front. She tied her heir up loosely, letting a few stubborn pieces fall where they may. She sprayed on some of the perfume before she descended the stairs into the common room. Draco was laying on the couch, apparently waiting for her.

He was dressed in faded jeans and a black sweater. Hermione walked over to him.

"Almost ready–?" he tried, but failed.

Hermione climbed atop of him and kissed him.

He smirked. "You smell good."

She laughed.

"I liked the robes," he told her. She had bought him green and silver Quidditch robes, since his other ones were dirty from such a wet season so far. They were far better than the school robes, and were self-cleaning so they would last him as long as he didn't gain more than an extra hundred pounds.

"Good, they took me forever to find," she said, smiling. She got up, and pulled him up as well. "Breakfast?"

"Great Hall?"

"Students."

"So?"

"Teachers."

"_So?_"

"Rumors."

"Ah, let them talk," he said, with a wave of his hand. She smiled.

"I wish we could," she sighed.

"You wish we could what?" he joked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Ha, ha." She said sarcastically. "I feel so old, sneaking around and keeping secrets. I feel eighty with all this stress."

"Well, you sure as hell look a lot better than an eighty-year-old, I'll tell you."

"Gee, mister. You sure can charm a girl," she replied.

"Well, Blaise'll be expecting me in the Slytherin Common Room around noon."

"Why?" she asked blankly.

"We usually go through other people's presents," he shrugged.

"Draco, that's awful," she scolded.

"Well, if it helps, I usually just sit there," he said. "It's like digging through other people's trash. My gifts are better than other people's. If it helps."

"It doesn't help."

"He'll be suspicious if I skip it, cause he'll know I was either here alone, or here with you. I can't not go," Draco explained.

"Yeah, I know. I'm going to go and see Hagrid," she said. "You could come there with me?"

"Not a chance," he said.

"Why not?" she asked haughtily.

"A: Hagrid wouldn't let me in his house even if I did go. B: Hagrid doesn't like me, and wouldn't even if you asked him to. C: If I did go, he would no doubt tell Potter and Weasely something's up, because we were there together."

He made good points.

"I could ask him not to mention it," Hermione pointed out.

"Then he'll definitely know something's up," Draco countered.

"Oh, fine," she finally said.

"So, breakfast?"

"Breakfast."

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

As usual, the Burrow was beautifully decorated for Christmas. The tree sparkled and gleamed just as any tree would that had been decorated by a family of seven (Mr and Mrs Weasely, Ginny, Ron, Harry, and Fred and George, who always spent Christmas at the Burrow, even though they had moved out just like Bill and Charlie had). The fireplace roared softly, emitting a lovely heat that traveled throughout the cozy home. As it was still the wee hours of the morning, Harry and Ron were still stretching in Ron's old room, Fred and George were awake and laughing about something, Mrs Weasely was in the kitchen making a Christmas breakfast, and Mr Weasely was still fast asleep. Ginny, for once, was an early-riser and was showered and dressed and brushing her hair.

By the time they all gathered in the kitchen, it was close to eight.

"Morning!" Mrs Weasely greeted cheerily. "Happy Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas mum," Fred and George said in unison.

"Happy Christmas Mrs Weasley," Harry offered, and she smiled and hugged him.

"Have a seat, Harry, breakfast will be done in about a minute."

"Happy Christmas dear," Mr Weasely said, entering in the kitchen. He kissed his wife and sat at the head of the table.

"Made your favorite, Author," she said, beaming.

"Oh, lovely!" he said, rubbing his hands together.

So they sat and ate bacon, ham, toast, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes and pumpkin juice. The table was set, and full. Hands reached across every which way and the chatter was loud, but pleasant and happy. Though only Mrs Weasely and Ginny were dressed, everyone seemed relaxed and comfortable enough to crawl back into bed.

"How did you like the sweater, dear?" Mrs Weasely asked.

"Loved it," the whole tabled replied. They all laughed, Mrs Weasely blushed.

"Oh, Harry, how did you like our gift?" Fred asked. "We've only just come up with it, it's not even on the shelves yet. What d'you think?"

They had given Harry a box containing powder that caused the opposite effect of veritserum. In other others, it makes you lie.

"It's great, though I haven't taken any yet," Harry replied honestly. He did think it was great, but he couldn't think of what he would ever use it for.

"Oh, don't take it yourself, mate," George told him.

"Yeah, save it for –" said Fred.

"–someone you really want to–" George intervened.

"–get," Fred finished.

"Fred, George," Mrs Weasely scolded. "That's enough. It's Christmas. We're not talking of getting anyone. Be cheerful."

"Yes, mum," they answered glumly.

Harry and Ron shook their heads and laughed.

Harry was always impressed with the twins' inventions. They were so clever he knew that they could've made it in the academic world of magic if they really wanted to. But they were funny, and this is what they did best.

"Well, hun, I'm stuffed," Mr Weasely said, pushing out of the table and patting him stomach fondly. "That was delicious."

"Great, mum," Ron said with a smile, finally finishing as well.

"So you and Harry and Ginny can clear up then?" she said.

They nodded.

Harry and Ron started the water and soap process while Ginny brought the dishes from the table.

"Seventeen in two months, two months until dishes with magic," Ron said. "Which won't really be dishes, if you think about it."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Except I have to wait until June."

"Ah, cheer up, mate," Ron offered. "I'll do the dishes for until then."

Ron washed the dishes, Harry dried, and Ginny stacked them away in the cupboard.

"Ron, stop worrying about rushing so you can pig out some more and wash the dishes right. There's still eggs on this one!" Ginny said, throwing the dish back into the sink.

It took the actual sound of her voice to make Harry realize how quiet she had been all morning.

"And Harry, none of these are dry," she said.

"Sorry," he said, pulling them back towards himself and drying them thoroughly.

"Okay, all done," Ron said, drying his hands. "Want me to help you dry, Harry?"

Harry twisted his head and a half-shrug, half-nod, half-shake and Ron left the room with a smirk upon his face.

"So, er, how'd you like –?" Harry began, but Ginny turned to face him and held up her wrist with a white and silver bracelet on it.

"Loved it," she said. "Thanks, Harry."

She was blushing.

So was Harry.

"That's good," he said lamely.

"How'd you like the snitch?" she asked.

"It's great," he said right away. The truth was, he already had one to practice with, but anything from Ginny was spectacular.

"You know," she said, "it's not a regular snitch. It kind of gets used to you. The better you get, the fast it will go and stuff. It'll move quicker and hide better. But you can tell it how long to hide, so you don't lose it."

"Really?" Harry asked, amazed. "That's great."

She laughed. "You'd think I'd get you some regular old ball?"

Harry laughed in reply, and blushed a little deeper. He finished drying the last dish and turned to Ginny as she stacked it on the highest shelf.

"Finally done," she huffed. "No thanks to Ron."

"Yeah."

"So feel like going into town? The muggles all go to this big tree in the town square and sing these songs about some guy with huge claws. It's great."

"Santa Clause?" Harry said.

"Who?" she said.

"Never mind," he shook his head.

"So, Harry," she said, as they walked towards the sitting room.

"Yeah?" he said, turning towards her.

Next thing he new, was nothing. It hit him like a ton of bricks and he didn't know what to do. Her lips were warm and soft, and powerful enough to weaken his knees. He finally regained his mind and kissed her back.

It wasn't exactly a safe, relaxing kiss, as any one of the Weasley's could catch them at any time. But Harry didn't have it in him to pull away. This was Ginny Weasely, for Merlin's sake.

Ginny finally settled down onto her flat feet and pulled away, and with her swollen lips she smiled.

"Happy Christmas."

"Yeah," Harry answered, dazed.

"Hey, Harry," came Ron's voice from upstairs. "Hedwig's got a letter for you. It's from Hogwarts. Looks important."

Harry looked at Ginny, regrettably with nothing good to say, and implored her with his eyes.

"Go ahead," she said, brushing his arm with her hand. "We have a week and a half before we go back to school, you know."

After lifting his stomach and dropping it, she walked away smiling slyly and Harry dizzily headed upstairs, flattening his hair, cause he was sure it had been messed up, and licking his lips. He cleared his throat as he entered the room.

"Ah, Merlin. Can't you guys calm down for one bloody moment?" Ron said, staring at his best friend.

"What?" Harry asked, 'innocently'.

"Come on Harry, you look like you've been flying for an hour. And you're all red, and sweaty," Ron said laughing.

"Shut up," Harry said, sitting down.

"So what's going on with the two of you, then?" Ron asked, trying to be casual. Harry shrugged.

"Dunno," Harry answered truthfully, because although they both seemed to share similar feelings, Harry knew how he felt for sure, and he didn't know about Ginny. He didn't want to ask her to be his girlfriend if she would say no. He may not recover, and then the prospects of a relationship may be lost. He couldn't handle that. So he was taking it slow. The first big step was the Ball, and asking her to it. He had kissed her lightly that night, and they had talked for a long while. But this kiss was different. It was very, very Ginevra Weasely and nothing else.

"Oh," Ron replied sagely, as if he knew everything Harry was thinking. "Well, there's your letter."

Harry walked over to Hedwig and unwrapped the twine.

"It's from Dobby," Harry said in surprise.

"Don't seem so shocked Harry, he's in love with you after all," Ron smirked. "What is it – a poem?"

"Nah," Harry said, ignoring Ron's jab at humor. "It just says _Happy Christmas _and a load of holiday stuff."

"Oh, great," Ron replied.

"Boys, desert!" Mrs Weasely shouted. Harry never stopped wondering why they would have desert after breakfast, but he supposed it was almost lunch. And it was Christmas. Besides, he liked desert, too.

But not as much as Ron, who was gone from the room a moment later.

Harry flattened the scroll of parchment, planning to stow it away in his trunk, he realized there was more writing at the bottom.

_P.s , Harry Potter_

_I have some most important and urgent and shocking news to share with you upon your arrival to Hogwarts this coming New Year._

Harry shrugged. It would have sounded important, if it hadn't been Dobby the Elf. It was

probably something stupid. He put the letter away, pulled on some clean clothes, tried to flatten his hair, and headed downstairs in hops of slipping away with Ginny while everyone was busy eating desert.


	21. Of Returning to Hogwarts & Dobby the Elf

**alright, so now we're really getting in deep! hope you're still enjoying the story! it's about to get quite interesting. the next chapter will take some time, because it is quite important and it needs to be done right. but anyways, sorry about the length of time it has been taking to update lately. but like I said, school, work, homework, and now christmas and all that. but, just to clear up some misunderstandings, michael is definitely coming back, not gone for good. you would have known if I had written him out, believe me. anyways, hope you like this chapter :)**

Chapter twenty-one – Of Returning to Hogwarts and Dobby the Elf

The Christmas break went fast, extremely and unrealistically fast. The snow continued to pile and pile and it was now at an all-time high. Christmas decorations had gradually disappeared around the castle as New Years grew closer and closer and now they were completely gone. This would have been depressing if there still wasn't at least one more night of celebration to enjoy. Teachers that had gone away for the holidays were back (except for McGonnagal, Hermione noticed), and Dumbledore could be seen around the castle more frequently now that he had also returned, and his beard was as white and long as ever.

Hermione and Draco had spent the holidays together. Really, really together. They slept on the couch together every evening, and though Hermione asked if it made him uncomfortable, Draco replied, 'not one bit' every single time. She could have sworn that she had seen him rubbing his back a few times, though. They wandered through the empty castle together, playing around and laughing too loudly. Draco had even pushed Hermione into the boys' loo and they had joked around about that for a long time.

Other than that, it was all kisses and late nights, and Hermione was saddened by the thought of having so much less time to spend with him when school began once again. Also, she was slightly fretting over seeing Michael. She hoped it wouldn't be as awkward as she was imagining. But nothing could be that bad, so she tried to stay positive.

Harry and Ron were due back in an hour or two, and said they had this big idea to tell her. She was hardly able to even think of what it could be because she was too excited about New Years. It was New years eve tomorrow, and she couldn't wait to spend it with Draco. Her first New Years kiss. It would be her last kiss of this year, and her first kiss of the next. So, so memorable. And she was too excited. Though Draco said he wasn't, she could see him glancing at the calendar every so often.

She shook her head free of these thoughts, because they made her too anxious, and she stood and stretched. She left her room, in search of Draco. He was in the kitchen, stirring a tea. She never would have thought Draco Malfoy would have liked to drink tea. For one, it relaxed you and made you calm, and though Draco sort of looked calm, he always seemed tense, alert, ready. For two, it seemed as if a weak drink like tea would hold nothing against a strong coffee for Draco. But he was full of surprises.

"Want one?" he asked her as she approached him.

"No thanks," she declined. She sighed. "I can't believe the holidays went so–"

"–fast? Yeah, I know. Me neither," he replied. He set down the spoon he had been using and brought the mug to his lips. Hermione hopped up onto the kitchen counter and crossed her ankles. She tilted her head.

"You know, I know you better than I would have thought that I could have in a million years, and I still feel like I don't know anything," she admitted, somewhat randomly.

Sipping his tea, he raised his eyebrows and smiled. After he set down the steaming cup, he walked towards her, placing either hand on the counter outside of her thighs. "What would you like to know?"

Hermione placed her hands on his face, than ran them through his hair, and then finally brought them back to her sides and leaned back. "Idunno. Lots."

"Ask a question," he suggested.

"You don't ask questions for these types of things . . . they just sort of, come up and we talk," she explained.

"Where'd you get that idea?" he asked with a furrowed brow.

Hermione thought briefly of Michael, and their previous, almost nightly, sessions of chatter and exchanges of information. "Idunno. Nowhere, just how I thought, I guess."

"Alright, so I'll ask a question then," he said. He leaned forward and kissed her neck, and then her lips, and then pulled back again. "Where did you learn to kiss so good?"

Hermione regarded him for a moment, and then smiled. "Honestly?"

"Absolutely."

"You know Ron's older brothers, Fred and George?"

Draco blinked, and then pulled back slightly.

"Hermione, that's disgusting, truly disgusting," Draco said, grimacing. "I thought you were such an innocent little thing."

She laughed, and then slapped him playfully in the chest. She grabbed the front of his shirt in the same movement and pulled him closer again. "Who do you think I am! – Pansy Parkinson?"

This time Draco laughed. "Okay, okay, so Fred and George Weasely and what about them?"

Hermione gaped at him. "You remembered their names?"

"What? Sure, why wouldn't I?"

"Huh," she said simply. "No reason. But, they have that joke shop right? – and there was this little book about a hundred perfect ways to kiss. I thought it would be a laugh, but apparently it works."

"It does?"

"Does it?"

They laughed.

"So, like everything else, you learnt it from a book?" Draco confirmed.

"Well, a little from the book," she said, leaning into him. She brought her mouth to his, her tongue sliding in between his lips. She could feel him tremble slightly, and it made her stomach tie in knots. She bit his lower lip slightly and then pulled away. "And a little is spontaneous."

Draco cleared his throat and said, "Well then, good for that."

"Alright, my turn," Hermione said. "How did you get so damn good-looking?"

"Elastic surgery." He answered immediately, with apparent seriousness.

"What?" Hermione asked, furrowing her brow. She half-expected a punch line.

"You should know. Those muggle nutters who slice people up. They made me look good."

Hermione burst out laughing, so hard in fact, that by the time she finished, she was wiping tears away from her eyes. "Oh, Merlin."

"What the hell is so funny?" Draco asked.

"Elastic surgery! – it's _plastic_ surgery," she explained, catching her breath.

"Oh," he said dumbly. "Well then I was born this way, okay?" He laughed and Hermione continued to as well. "Well, what do you expect, I'm not muggle-born."

"Well, you could've paid more attention in Muggle stud–"

Hermione stopped, and then said, "You know what I've just realized?"

"What?" Draco asked enthusiastically.

"I've never kissed someone while sitting on a counter before."

"How pathetic," he said sarcastically. He jumped up onto the counter and she shrieked with laughter. Straddling her, he leaned down and kissed her feverishly. Hermione, still laughing, wrapped her legs around his waste and kissed him back fiercely.

Abruptly Draco stopped, and Hermione pulled away as well.

_Knock, knock, knock._

"Someone's at the door," Draco whispered, getting off of the counter. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Really?"

She jumped down and smoothed out her clothes, and then suddenly realized. She ran towards the door, but Draco grabbed her arm.

"What?"

"It's Harry and Ron!" she whispered excitedly.

_Knock, knock, knock, knock._

He brushed back her hair and ran his thumb over her swollen lips. "That'll have to do."

She giggled, but he covered her mouth. "I'll go upstairs."

She nodded, and then wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard, and passionately. She laughed silently as she pushed him away. He looked dazed and dizzy as he wandered away. After he shut his door, she went to the portrait.

"Harry! Ron!" Hermione squealed, almost as immediately as they said, "Hermione!"

They hugged for a moment, and then Hermione kissed them both on the cheek. "How was Christmas at the Burrow?"

"Great," Harry answered.

"Got loads," Ron continued.

"That's great," she said, smiling brightly. "Do you want to go to the Gryffindor Common Room before dinner, then?"

As they walked, Ron and Harry recited every thing they had received for Christmas, and Hermione told them all about her boring holidays, how much she regretted not being able to go, and how much she hated all of her Head's Duties over the holidays. When they arrived at the common room, Hermione was surprised to find that she didn't know the password any more than Neville would have.

"I don't know it either," Ron said.

"Me neither," Harry added glumly.

"Geeze, Hermione, you were here. You should know," Ron said. "Have you been in your dorm the entire two weeks of holidays?"

Hermione blushed, and said, "Of course not."

"Hey guys," Neville greeted them from behind.

"Hi Neville," Hermione said happily.

"Hey Neville, how was your holidays, mate?" Harry asked nicely.

"Good. Are you guys trying to get inside?"

"Yeah, you waiting too?" Ron asked.

"No, just got here," he answered. He looked at the Fat Lady. "Midnight Moons."

The portrait swung open and the three friends followed Neville inside with their heads slightly lowered.

"So what's this big idea you guys were going to tell me about?" Hermione asked as they sat down. It took the actual familiarity of this room for her to realize how long it had been since she had been in it. These three chairs by the fire used to be their favorite seats, she remembered fondly.

Ron and Harry smiled at each other, and leaned in closer. Hermione, feeling very out of the loop, leaned in as well, not sure what to expect.

"I didn't know it was such a secret," she said.

"Well, it's not really a secret," Harry said.

Ron added, "We just don't want it getting around 'til we're ready."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "Okay."

"Alright, so, tomorrow's New Year's Eve, right?" Ron went on.

"And we were talking about how great it would be to have a party. Like here in the Gryffindor common room. For New Years."

Hermione smiled. Naive little boys. There would be so much problems with this plan, she decided to let them finish talking completely before pointing them out to them.

"We weren't thinking of actually doing it or anything, because we know how impossible it would be," Ron said, and Hermione began to wonder what they were going to tell her if this wasn't the main point.

"But then," Harry went on, "Fred and George overheard us and started talking about how they had done it once, right underneath McGonnagal's nose."

Problem one: Professor McGonnagal. Not only easily one of the most strict teachers in the school, but one of the most fair and intelligent women Hermione knew of.

"And it'll be twice as easy for us to pull it off," Ron said excitedly. "Because McGonnagal doesn't get back until the seventh!"

Hermione was surprised by this, and asked, "How do you know?"

"Hagrid wrote us when he sent his presents. Said how excited he was to be Head of Gryffindor for the holidays, 'cause McGonnagal's not here."

Hermione suddenly remembered having the exact same conversation with Hagrid on Christmas day. It wasn't her fault it has slipped her mind, she had other things going on.

"Okay, but we would still need a lot of food. And midnight is traditionally when a New Year's Eve Party ends. Usually, it goes much later, and Gryffindor's lights out is 11:30PM. Not only that, but loud music and louder students would attract even Hagrid all the way out in his house."

"Don't you worry, we've got it all figured out," Ron said to her in an arrogant way that made her roll her eyes.

"Hermione, seriously, Ron's not kidding," Harry said. "He could be a little less smug, but he's not a liar."

She laughed. "Okay, so tell me then. How are you two going to pull this off?"

"First, Fred and George gave us a few things from their store for the party – to multiply food and everything," Harry explained.

"Yeah, and they gave us loads of butter beer too! For free! Said it was the holiday spirit!" Ron went on, beaming.

"And actually, right after we got back, we ran into Dumbledore," Harry said.

"And we asked him if, just for New Years, if he could extend the curfew just a couple hours," Ron finished.

"And he said–?" Hermione asked.

"He said yes!" Ron said.

"But he also said that if the lights aren't out and the mess isn't cleared up by exactly one, then he won't ever allow it again," Harry said. "So we're thinking of having people come 'til 12:30, that way we'll have time to clean up and all that."

"Right," Ron agreed. "And we don't want to ruin it for the younger kids, either. So we're going to care just this once, just a little bit."

Hermione smiled half-heartedly, trying to appear happy. So much for her perfect night with Draco.

"And about the loud music thing," Harry said. "We were actually kind of hoping you had an idea for that."

"Of course," she answered, in a determinedly sweet voice. She was trying to make sure they thought she was excited instead of angry and disappointed. "I have a few spells on my mind that I can use. Sound-proofing is what Muggles call it."

"Excellent," Ron said, smiling.

"So when are you telling everyone, then?" Hermione asked. "Seems like everything's set."

"Yeah, we were thinking of tonight, later tonight. After curfew, so that everyone will for sure be here," Harry said.

"And we'll have to make sure that no one tells anyone from any other houses. This has gotta be strictly Gryffindor tradition from now on," Ron said.

"A traditional secret New Years party," Harry confirmed. "And it'll keep going as long as people are careful, because every time new first years come to the school, they'll hear about it and it'll keep on going."

"Great," Hermione offered. "Sounds just perfect."

It was perfect alright, just not for Hermione.

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Hermione spent as much time as she could with Harry and Ron, but left just before ten, while everyone was coming back due to curfew. It was odd seeing so many students back at the school, she had gotten used to an empty school that she and Draco could roam freely in. She also felt as if two worlds were colliding. Her and Draco's, and the one where she hated him and Harry and Ron and Ginny would kill her if they knew otherwise. She was only just now realizing how deep she had fallen into this mess. At first, she made herself not think about it, because she thought it was nothing – that it would wear off, or that something would happen to snap her out of it, to bring her back to her senses. But now, she wasn't sure she had lost her senses at all.

She came back to the common room, to find Blaise Zabini laying across their couch. _Their_ couch. It didn't make her mad at Draco, just mad in general. And the fact that she would soon have to tell him about the party didn't make it much better, either. Keeping in character, as she and Draco and agreed long ago, she shut the door and took off her coat in silence. They were talking, though she couldn't hear of what, and stopped as she came in.

"Why, hello Granger," Blaise said, getting off of the couch and approaching her. Draco sat on the chair with his fists bawled but did nothing, as anything more would look suspicious. "Can't bear to keep away can you?"

"Well, seeing as how this is where _I_ live, no. Can't seem to. But you seem to be stocking me, though," she retorted flatly.

"Ouch, she's got a little bit of a bite, don't you?" he said to her, raising his eyebrows and smirking. "Come, give us a kiss."

He walked towards her with his arms open but she stood still and crossed her arms. The sight might have even been a little funny if she wasn't so upset.

"Oh, you know, I would, but it's so hard for a girl to kiss a guy when she's vomiting," she snapped. She walked passed him and didn't glance at Draco. She didn't know why this party thing was making her so mad, but she could feel tears of anger ready to spill, and she didn't want Draco to see her crying.

As she shut her door she could hear Draco laughing his head off and Blaise snarling a terrible word at him. She sighed, and felt the urge to cry subside considerably. She looked around the room and recognized the form of an owl fluttering outside her window. _Tap, tap, tap._

She opened the window and was surprised to see Michael's owl glide inside and land on her bookshelf, once again. Numb with denial, she approached it quickly and ripped it open, her heart beating madly, shaking her.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_Sorry to bother you again. I just wanted to write you and tell you, again, that I'm sorry. Also, see you on the first day back to school. Hope you had a great Christmas break._

_Michael_

So short, and kind of impersonal for their situation. His last letter was so long, too long. It

included so much revealing and personal information that Hermione and rolled on top of Draco and acted like a git to make sure it was hidden from sight. And now, he addressed her as _miss Granger_? Reverting back to their informal way of talking to each other? When they were both in denial of their feelings? Was this happening, again, now? Was he back in denial? Maybe this letter was the real one he intended to send, maybe the other one was a terrible mistake, written in a state of great tiredness (he _had_ mentioned not sleeping, after all) or hysteria, or panic. Or something.

But he had signed his first name. But had addressed her by her last? Which one was meant, and which was habit? She ran her fingers through her hair. This situation was so frustrating it left her speechless.

It was then that Hermione realized how much she appeared to care about something so small. She threw the letter into the garbage and fell onto her bed. She would wait until Blaise left, tell Draco about the party, they would either fight or just be glum and depressed, then she would curl up on the couch with Draco and sleep away their troubles. They would find some way to meet at midnight. All they needed was a minute. Maybe two, or three. Ten at the most. Ten minutes at midnight. She wished there would be some way to just stall midnight, steel away to see Draco, share their perfect, secret, passionate, forbidden kiss, and back to the party before anyone could notice. But, sadly, she had given up the use of time turners for good reason, and knew that Harry would at least be suspicious of her.

Oh why, why, why did she have to get herself stuck in this!

Little did she know, she was just about to get a lot more stuck.

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"That went well," Harry commented, as the common room cleared of buzzing, smiling Gryffindors.

"Yeah," Ron said. "This is gonna be great."

Harry sighed and leaned back into his chair. "We're gonna have to get everything together about two hours early tomorrow, just to be on the safe side. We'll have to get Hermione to use that concealing charm we talked about, though."

"Yeah," Ron said lazily. "I'm spent. I'm going to bed. Coming?"

"Nah, I'll be up in a bit," Harry said.

"Alright," Ron said, and he bade Harry goodnight and was gone.

Harry stared into the fire for a little, too lazy to move, or to even redirect his gaze, his mind caught with thoughts of a red-headed girl that he would be with tomorrow at midnight. A loud _crack_ awoke him from his reverie and set him on his feet. He looked around, his wand at the ready, panting.

"Sorry, Harry Potter sir, Dobby didn't mean to frighten you, sir," Dobby the elf said, bowing deeply.

Harry sighed. "Oh, Dobby. Don't worry about it." He sat back down. "How are you?"

"Very good, sir, very good indeed . . ." a pause. ". . . except some troubling discoveries, sir, very troubling indeed."

"Oh, right, you had something to tell me about, right? In your letter you said there was something of great importance, right?" Harry remembered. It had completely slipped his mind with the excitement of the party planning.

"Er, yes sir . . . at least, I think it would be quite important to you," Dobby admitted. Harry recognized the stress and concern in the elf's big eyes and sat up straighter.

"Dobby, what is it?" he asked more seriously this time. "What's wrong?"

"Dobby feels just awful, talking about this sir, it is no business of his own, you see," Dobby explained. Harry didn't interrupt him, as it always took him a while to get to the point and he thought it was rude to be impatient when he had sought him out to tell him something. "I didn't meant to, though, sir, it must be understood that it was completely by accident. No other elves will go to that room, because they were asked not to. Dobby does, though, sir, he does. He always does for his friend, such a smart friend, and considerate of us elves. Always."

Dobby stopped, wringing his hands and looking around, as if someone were about to jump out and silence him. Harry was rigid. It was about Hermione, for sure. He stayed silent, though, still awaiting the point of the news he was brining, and the apparent graveness of it.

"The fire, you see sir, it's never going in the night, not there. But Dobby thought just to check, because it was awfully cold on this night, Harry Potter, dreadfully cold. I was just trying to be considerate, trying to make sure it was nice and warm. So, you see, at a little passed midnight, on Christmas Eve sir, Dobby went to check the fire. It was going, you see, so I was glad to be able to help, to make sure it stayed going the whole night."

"You're talking about the Head's common room, right, Dobby?" Harry asked, his muscles clenched.

"Yes, sir, Dobby is," he replied quickly.

"What happened? What is of great importance, Dobby? You checked the fire and what?" he asked urgently, unable to keep his mouth shut any longer.

Dobby's big eyes looked full of worry, but he pressed on. "Well, you see, the fire was on because they were in the common room, when Dobby entered, sleeping. You see sir, they were fast, fast asleep, so they did not see Dobby sir–"

"Hermione? Hermione was sleeping on the couch?" Harry quipped.

"Yes, sir. Miss Hermione was fast sleeping on the couch . . ." another pause. "She does not know Dobby was there, I was very quiet."

"But Dobby, why is this of _great importance?_" Harry pressed. "What was wrong?"

Dobby looked surprised, as if Harry should've already gotten the point. "Well, sir," he began, looking drained, "they were asleep on the couch."

"Yeah! You said that–" Harry said frustrated, then stopped. "Wait – _they_? Who's _they_? What _they_?"

"Oh, excuse Dobby, Harry Potter sir, Dobby thought you would know right away," Dobby said, bowing again. He stood, wringing his hands once again. "They were sleeping there together, sir. The Malfoy boy. Fast sleeping, deep sleeping, together on the couch. Dobby knew, sir, that there was something wrong, sir. Master Draco Malfoy did not bother with Dobby much, sir, but he is the son of Mater Lucious, sir, and Dobby does not think that this was right. It did not seem right, to Dobby, sir. Harry Potter, sir? Sir–?"

But Harry had gone numb, his eyes wide. Dobby never lies. Never lies. Not to Harry. But this wasn't possible. It was a mistake.

"Sir?" Dobby said again.

"Dobby, do you ever lie?" Harry asked monotonously.

"Never, sir, never," Dobby said frantically.

_Never, sir, never._


	22. Of a Plan and an Interruption

Chapter twenty-two – Of a Plan and an Interruption

The room was musty. It smelled like heavy fog, like humid, hot, uncomfortable air. But he kept working. He wiped the sweaty hair away from his perfect face and complection. He stirred the caldron. He rolled up the sleeves of his white, school uniform shirt carefully and loosened his tie. He threw in some ground up leaves. Potions were quite strange, to this particular male student anyway. The maker could seemingly know what he was doing, and come out with something entirely useless.

_This_ maker, however, was putting a lot into this potion, a lot more than simple–yet significant all the same–ingredients. Going into this potion, was hope. Hope accompanied by arrogance nonetheless, but it was still hope. The only reason he would need to _hope_ in the first place, was due to the fact that, even though he was flawless, even though he was brilliant, even though he succeeded more than decent grades in the class of potions, this work was highly more advanced than he had ever imagined it would have to be.

_But the ends would justify the means . . ._ he smirked as he thought this. The means might have been the work, but the work would get him what he wanted, for it wasn't only ingredients and some hope being stirred in the shiny, expensive black cauldron, it was more than enough planning. Planning that he might have not anticipated when he originally returned to Hogwarts this year, but as of first setting his unfathomable –and usually unsatisfiable– eyes upon that creature . . . the grace, the intelligence, the spark she had when she got all revved up, the hair, the _smell_. It was all quite intoxicating.

The reasoning may have been trivial in the least, but he _always_ got what he wanted. The only difference this time, was that he could not simply call upon a lesser being or servant, or his parents, or some influence he was in contact with –or, and he smirked, had some influence over himself– and he had to actually complete this task in solitude. Besides, telling someone else would have been risky. He hadn't even hinted at his plan to anyone, not even to her. Yes, he had resisted the urge to be smug about his spectacular ingeniousness. No one had known, will know, or will even _suspect_ him. Not even the gorgeous, alluring, admittedly unanticipated subject herself.

He stirred again, and smirked. It was ironic. He had never worked this hard in _Potions class_, but when it came to something he wanted, something he needed, something he deserved and would get under any circumstances, he sure could put together a decent mixture. It actually looked just like the book said it should, too. That had never happened to him before. He wondered whether or not it would work.

He shook the doubts out of his mind. This would work. It had to work. He had put too much effort into this for it _not_ to work. The plan was set . . . even the most recent changes. He was sincerely glad that he had decided to stay behind over the Christmas holidays, as he was now completely aware of any change in plans that had occurred spontaneously.

It was perfect. There was her, a party, some idiot friends, and then there was he himself, who would be the only one ringing in the New Year with genuine happiness. More like . . . euphoria. No, that didn't quite explain it right. Either way, it was a pure infatuation, and once he was finished with the plan, he should be set . . . until he decided to pull out some more of the potion and try it again. If it worked right, that certainly _would_ be feasible.

After he had found the potion, after he had gotten everything he needed –which wasn't that hard after getting into this room, obviously– he had contemplated about the fact that there was still the slim chance that he would be caught in all of his webs of lies and manipulation. But, and this always calmed his down, there was at least three other idiots that would be blamed before any eyes were turned on him. And even _if_ he was suspected by some stupendous mishap, he would be far enough ahead to have many, many, _many_ excuses. Besides, no one knew of his . . . infatuation. As of yet. Well, that may have been untrue with the exception of one person, but he would never believe his capability of something like this. And that idiot had a bias anyway . . .

He sighed. This was getting annoying. Five hours into the morning and he still had at least two more to go. He still needed to do a bunch of ridiculous things with some chopped squid and some dirty, nasty dust that was burned up tail-ends of some squalid-looking creature.

But when it did work . . . he reminded himself how great the rewards would be. He got goosebumpes merely imagining it. Whoever said to be good was worth it were clearly insane, or lying. The satisfaction of defying the rules and getting away with it was amazing. And reaping all the rewards for yourself was even better. All to himself. He smirked again.

He turned around and faced a mirror that had appeared on the wall when he had wished to look at himself. He rather liked this room. It had everything he needed, which meant less work and more rewards. He could only imagine how hard this would be without the ingredients and equipment appearing for him left and right. He checked himself, then turned back to the bubbling cauldron, but knocked a large jar over in the process. _Smash._ It was in a million pieces.

"Dammit all," he cursed, and he bent double to collect the shards. Then he realized, was this his room? No. He kicked the mess away from his feet and looked at the next instruction. He sighed. Just a little longer, and he would appreciate himself later this evening. This would be the best New Year's yet.

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"Harry?"

Ron looked at Harry, staring at the fire as it burned through the ashes. He was slumped on the chair that he had been sitting on last night, looking pale and miserable, and almost angry. Ron spoke again when Harry offered no reply.

"Harry–?" he said, stepping forward. "Have you been sitting here all night?"

"What?" Harry looked round at Ron and then back into the fire and shrugged. "I guess I have."

"Why?" Ron asked, sitting next to him. "I mean, it's nearly ten mate. What kept you up all night?"

"Nothing," Harry lied. "Just couldn't sleep. Didn't feel well."

"Alright," Ron said slowly. "Should we go to Madame Pomfrey?"

"No, I feel better now."

"So staying up all night really fixed you then?" Ron asked with a smirk.

"Yeah," Harry lied again and stood. "Breakfast?"

"Yeah," Ron said, suddenly forgetting about Harry's 'illness'.

As Harry followed Ron out of the common room, he felt the hours of sleep that he had missed and he urged the night to come back again. But then he remembered the reason for his lack of sleep and was suddenly wide awake and alert. Hermione.

This name used to comfort him consistently. They may have only been friends, well best friends, but knowing Hermione was there made everything alright. The name sometimes worried him, confused him, evaded him, overpowered him. But _never_ had this name betrayed him. now, the name made him so angry . . . he bawled his fist and clenched his teeth. His jaw was set, his eyes were intense. He was not focused, but he was thinking. He had never felt so betrayed in his life. Malfoy. Draco . . . Malfoy. There was not a _worse_ name to call him by because Harry literally considered him the worst thing to be. And yet, he still didn't want to believe it. But between Dobby's first hand accounts, and Hermione's most recent and strange behavior, the way she was constantly keeping to _herself_, or so it seemed, and communicating less and less, with Ron and himself at least. Not going to the Burrow . . . Harry twitched slightly in anger. He didn't even realize he was following Ron until Neville waved weakly at him and passed him by.

That liar. How could she betray her friends like that? _And_ it would for certain break Ron's heart into a gazillion little pieces. This was so surreal. Hermione with Malfoy? What was next? Ginny and Crabbe? Ron and Goyle?

Shuddering with disgust, Harry erased the last image from his mind and sat down to eat. He felt a pair of lips on his cheek a minute later and looked to his right. Though it didn't make him _forget_ about Hermione, it put a smile on his face, and that was a feat.

Ginny smiled and settled back into her seat, blushing madly. "Morning. You look tired."

"Mhm," Harry answered, chewing on some toast. Truth was, he wouldn't have anything half-decent to come out with anyway. He was still shocked by the fact that they were almost practically seeing each other now. There was the ball, the kiss at the Burrow, and all during Christmas break they had definitely been close. And then there was the kiss on the cheek, which definitely signified boyfriend-girlfriend status. But, he would not rush things. Keep it slow, keep it safe. If he started rushing madly to get married and whatnot (not that he _would_ do that) it would scare her away. He needed this to go perfectly. With Cho it didn't really matter because he only had a crush on her, with Ginny it was something a lot more real and powerful and losing it would definitely only worsen his already bad mood.

"He wash up all nigh'" Ron said, or attempted to, with a full mouth of bacon and potatoes.

"_All night?_" Ginny turned to him with her eyebrows receding into her hairline. Harry's cheeks burned, hoping she would not ask him why. He didn't know if he would be able to keep it in, or simply blurt it out. His stomach was already taut with anger, hurt, and stress. But, to his shock and pleasure (once he got _over_ the shock part) she reached up and rubbed her hand in his hair. "Well, when I said you looked tired, it doesn't mean you look bad, you know."

Harry was redder than Ron had ever been before.

"Geeze Gin, leave the poor guy alone," Ron laughed. "I wish Hermione was here to see this."

Then Harry realized that Hermione _wasn't_ there. He felt like an idiot; he was so busy thinking about her, he forgot to notice if she was around. "Where is she?" he asked, or more, demanded.

Ron gave him a look through his narrowed blue eyes, and tilted his head to the side. Harry rubbed the back of his head and looked away, afraid his eyes might give him away. Ron eventually shrugged. "Dunno. She'll come by the Common Room later to help with the you-know-what. I can't wait 'til tonight, Harry. Harry–?"

But he had gotten up and headed for the door.

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"Please don't be mad," Hermione begged. She bit her lip. "Please?"

But he wouldn't budge. He stood there with his arms crossed and his perfect little face not facing her. "No. I want to be mad. This is ridiculous."

"I've already had every single one of those thoughts, Draco, believe me," she assured him.

"Well then tell them no!" he said, looking at her at last.

"Draco, think about it. It's New Years. I didn't go to the Burrow with them like I usually would, and I just barely got away with that. Now their here and they will be extra suspicious if I skip the party. We're best friends and I'm not even supposed to be with–"

But Hermione stopped. She didn't want to imply that she was _with_ him. Maybe he didn't want to be with her?

"I'm not even supposed to be around you like this. We're not supposed to be doing this. And I'm lying to them. Do you _know_ how much that hurts me?" she said, but it wasn't with indignity, it was a plea for understanding.

Draco took a minute, then let his arms down and looked at her. "What am I supposed to do?" he pouted, but somehow he still managed to look sophisticated. He was amazing. A God. So beautiful, _too_ beautiful.

"I might be able to sneak away, at midnight. Everyone will be occupied."

"With–?" Draco asked.

"Their midnight kisses," Hermione said incredulously, but then blushed at the realization of her bluntness. If Draco noticed, he spared her.

Draco's eyes widened. "If that Weasely comes anywhere _near_ you–!"

"Relax," Hermione said. "I'll be with you before he even thinks about looking for me."

"That's true. He's not very good at the whole _thinking_ thing, is he?"

Hermione slapped him lightly and laughed then rolled her eyes. "Alright?"

"I guess," he agreed grudgingly. "And Hermione?"

"Yes?" she replied.

"For future references, you _are_ with me, okay?" he said, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She wouldn't admit it, but she felt quite insignificant and frail when he held her so strongly. Like she was the most breakable thing there was.. She smiled and blushed as he added, "And I am with you."

Hermione kissed him, encased completely in bliss. He tilted her backwards and lay her on the couch. Hermione was not reluctant this time. If any other person had just admitted that they were _with_ her, it wouldn't have been a big deal. In fact, it would have been no deal at all. It would have been stupid, even. But Draco said it in a way that she knew, she knew that he meant they were together as a couple. And that meant that he wanted to be. The fact that he wanted her, and to be with her, made her want him in a whole other way. A way that he had been joking about since their first kiss.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Draco breathed, as Hermione's hands traveled quickly up the backside of his shirt. His skin was cold, like marble, but it was perfect. He lifted himself off of her and looked down at her, her hands still wrapped around his waist. "What are you doing?" he breathed, though he was surprised he could because he was sure he was breathless.

"What are _you_ doing?" she asked, smiling slightly. Her voice was small, she was blushing, but at least he could tell that she meant it.

He smirked and lowered himself down onto her again. She could feel his goosebumps as she ran her hands over his spine lightly. She started slightly as she felt his hands on her bare skin around her waist and belly button. Her breath shuddered, but she didn't stop him. He began kissing her neck and collarbone and she had no idea what came over her but she began to lift his shirt over his head.

"Hermione," he said hoarsely, "stop fooling around."

She laughed shakily, but her whole body was shaking. She looked at him seriously after a moment. "I thought that's what we were doing?"

He sighed. "No, I mean, stop fooling around with _me._ Stop setting me up. I know this doesn't lead far, but the way you move . . . it tends to suggest it . . ." He may have deemed these thoughts embarrassing, embarrassing for the great and all powerful Draco Malfoy to need and want something he could not simply take when he willed it so. But, also, in a way, it was something he treasured. It made him want her even more, which didn't help a lot, but his heart swelled with gratitude –along with other things– every time she denied him. She was someone he could respect. "I know we don't go far, and I am perfectly content with that. But don't tease me . . . please, Hermione . . ."

Her heart was beating so fast she was afraid to speak in fear of it jumping right out of her throat.

"Who says I'm _teasing_ you?" she asked in a low voice, peering at him under her lashes.

He just looked at her, and after a moment, she lifted his shirt over his head. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. Hermione's heart began to beat faster and faster. He slowly lowered himself onto his side so he was facing her and kissed her lips softly. Hermione kissed him back. She didn't even have the urge to stop him when his hands slowly unbuttoned her white blouse. His hands ran over her thighs, over the fabric of her jeans it was hard to feel but she was trying not to rush.

Hermione didn't know what she was doing, didn't know _how _to do what she was doing, but apparently she wasn't super terrible because he seemed to be enjoying himself. She wasn't doing much, admittedly, just kissing him back, but it was good all the same. Her head was resting on his chest, on his cold, soothing skin, as he kissed her neck ferociously. As he kissed her, Hermione had a sudden urge to make him know how much she actually cared for him, that she wanted him just as much as he said he wanted her. She reached her hand down to his jeans and the zipper came down very slow. He stopped kissing her, breathing hard. She could tell he was about to say something, but she moved quicker than his mind could formulate words and the button was also loosened.

"S-stop," he said, hoarsely again, and in a whisper still.

"Do you want me to stop?" She frowned.

There was a pause. He sighed.

"Of course I don't, Hermione, despite what you're friends may think, I _am_ a man, after all."

"Then I don't understand . . ." she admitted. They went unmoving still. Draco was afraid to move, Hermione was too stunned by his protests to dare.

"I know you wouldn't be doing this with Weasely . . ."

"Ron has something to do with this?" she gasped, the shock of being thrown back into reality hitting her hard. He was pulling her heaven away.

"Not entirely, no." He paused again, but Hermione resisted the urge to interrupt him, and he was grateful because this position made it hard for him to think all too clearly. "The thing is . . . I don't want you to be anything other than you when you're with me. You don't have to do this. You _know_ that I don't care."

Hermione smiled, and blushed, glad his eyes were closed now. "First," she said in a whisper, "I _am _being myself, nothing but. Believe that if anything else." They still hadn't moved, and his eyes remained closed. Her heart beat madly as she tried to recall what she was saying. "Next, I don't do anything I don't _want_ to do, Draco. You _should_ know that by now, at least."

There was a slight pause, where she considered herself and if she was telling the complete truth. But she decided quickly that she definitely was, he was just confusing her with his marvelous, velvet voice and his heavenly figure and face.

"Also," she went on, " . . . I know that you care . . ."

His eyes were open in a flash. They were almost angry. Scratch that, they _were_ angry. "I certainly _do not_ care if we do anything . . . like . . . _that_."

She was shocked, but her voice was calm when she spoke again, slowly. "I know that you care, or at least your body does, and the fact that you are willing to let me make the choices in _that_ area, only pushes me to believe that, it's not as wrong as I was thinking it was before. And, in fact, I wasn't even really thinking it was wrong . . . but more . . ."

She stopped abruptly, blushing deeply. He touched her cheek. "What is it?"

"I was . . ." she breathed. She could admit this to him, look at where they were! Literally!

"You were . . .?" he whispered in that same, honey tone.

"Afraid."

He regarded her for a moment. Her eyes stayed down.

"Of me." He seemed disgusted with himself.

"No!" she insisted. "I was afraid you wouldn't . . . that I wouldn't . . ."

He didn't speak, confused. He was just happy with the fact that she trusted him enough to even consider telling him any more.

She sighed. He could tell this was hard for her. "You've existed in the world of boy-girl relations a lot longer than I have, Draco." She said this flatly, obviously quite humiliated. He chuckled, and she grimaced, pulling her hands both back up to her chest.

"No, no," he soothed softly, and it was hard to stay uncomfortable when he spoke like that. "I just think that's the most _absurd_ thing to worry about. That stuff is not nearly as important as all the other stuff you offer that I never even _knew _existed."

Hermione dared not look at him, she was trembling and she knew he must feel it.

When she offered no reply, he went on. "You were afraid of this? Well, I was afraid of everything else. How does that sound?"

"What do you mean– everything else?" she said finally, suspiciously.

Glad that she was speaking, he went on. They were still whispering unnecessarily. "The conversation. The holding hands. The sitting and simply being together. The sleeping. The eating together . . . not to sound rude or offensive, but every other girl I've ever been with have never been around for anything like that. That was all knew to me, and you seemed to know exactly what you were doing."

"Did I?" she asked, surprised. This truly came as a shock to her. He was always so smooth.

"I followed your lead," he confirmed. Then his tone changed. "Until now. You don't need to do anything like . . ."

Hermione looked at him. His cheeks were tinted with pink. He was blushing! After all he had done with every other girl he had been with, he was embarrassed to even talk about it with her? Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

"You don't seem to understand!" she said, frustrated. "How are you so certain that I don't want to do anything more than kiss you?"

He was silent for a moment. He then looked at her. "Why would you?"

She then realized that his eyes were more than aggravated, more than frustrated, more than demanding and arrogant.

"All that arrogance, only talk, huh?" she teased, attempting to lighten the mood. He did not respond so she spoke again. "You are exactly what I want, you know. You shouldn't feel as if you're making me do something I don't want to do, or putting me through some kind of intolerable pain."

"Exactly what you want?" he asked, seeming genuinely surprised. "Really."

"You seem skeptical."

"I am."

"Well don't be."

"Hermione, stop. You drive me mad."

Hermione kissed him so fast that he was the one shocked for once. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in quickly, however, and Hermione was once again outshone. Then, her hand slowly made its way down to the undone zipper and button and he stopped kissing her once again.

"Mad, eh?" she whispered in a sultry tone. He was breathing heavily.

"Consistently."

Her hand moved beneath the thick fabric of his jeans slowly still and he exhaled loudly. She was still too hesitant to do anything rash, but she found what she was looking for easily. Her face burned and she hoped he did not notice. But a quick glance at his face told her no. His eyes were closed and his head tilted back slightly. His hand fell over his face a moment later, after she shifted slightly. She was slow, she moved her hand lightly.

A few moments passed, and she found her breathing became normal again. However, Draco did not seem to be breathing at all. He grabbed a hold of her wrist.

"Okay . . ." he breathed.

"Are you?" she asked, bewildered.

"I . . . don't . . .don't . . . stop . . ." he breathed, not making any sense. His face was flushed. She moved her hand again, and she stared at his perfect face. His lips parted, and he breathed in and out slowly. "Okay . . ." he repeated.

"Okay, what?" she asked slowly, not relenting. His hand left her wrist and now both hands covered his face.

He mumbled something incoherent into his hands and Hermione took that as a good sign. He pushed his head back, and then sideways into the couch. His hair was an absolute mess. Hermione finally saw it best fit to stop. She touched his hands, cold as expected, and pulled them away from his face. He looked down to her and gave her a crooked smile, shaking his head. "You like to push your luck, don't you?"

"Only with you," she replied curtly.

"You're blushing," he commented, touching her face.

"You should talk," she retorted, and he recoiled.

"I don't _blush_," he assured her. She laughed.

"Don't worry, I don't blame you," she said, smiling.

"I blame _you_," he said, eyes narrowed in a joking manner. "You just can't stop yourself, can you?"

"I'll try to control myself."

He kissed her deeply and rolled on top of her again. He kissed her neck and mumbled against her skin, "I never said I minded."

The smile that surfaced on her lips quickly disappeared a moment later, when a loud banging came from the portrait. Draco jumped back so fast that he flipped over the end of the couch. Hermione gasped and got onto her knees. She looked at him as he rose.

"Are you okay?" she whispered urgently.

"Yes, of course," he said frantically.

Hermione had never seen him so wound up. He was usually calm and suave.

He turned to her. "The door."

She nodded. "Yes. Who could it be?"

"Hm," he considered. "I know Blaise said he would be coming by today."

Hermione's nose wrinkled. The banging started and stopped again. "Can you please answer it? – I hardly enjoy his antics."

"Of course," he said quickly. He pulled his shirt over his head and slid his arms through the holes. "Anything."

Hermione remembered her blouse and dealt with it quickly. He then turned and scuttled off to the door. She smiled nervously. "Tell him to go away."

"Because I was definitely going to invite him in," he said sarcastically. He reached for the portrait.

"Er, Draco?" she said uncomfortably.

"Yes?" he said, turning towards her.

"Your . . . er . . . _your pants_ . . ." she said, looking away.

"What? – oh!" he looked down, zipped and buttoned himself. Hermione didn't bother to tell him that his hair was ridiculous and his face was still flushed. She was already embarrassed enough.

Draco opened the door.

"Where's Hermione."

"Potter?" he said, his voice hoarse. He cleared it. "What are you doing here?"

Draco tried to sound intimidating as usual, but his voice betrayed him. He was slightly frazzled with the interruption.

"Where is Hermione," he said again, in a dark voice. He wouldn't look Draco in the eye.

"Look, Potter," he said in a rush, hoping his face was back to normal. "I don't know what you want, but–"

"I just said _Hermione_," he hissed viciously.

Hermione furrowed her brow from where she sat, and rose off her seat slowly. Harry could not see her, as Draco had the door mostly closed. She realized something was wrong.

"Or, you know what, pardon me," Harry snapped, and his glare met Draco's newly formed one. "It seems I'm not the only one."

In shock, Draco didn't even think to _move_ when Harry pushed through him and stepped inside. Hermione was on her feet, wide-eyed like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Harry?" she spluttered, confused. The world was spinning.

Harry's eyes were narrowed, his muscles clenched. "What have you been doing, Hermione?" he asked, his tone deadly.

"Excuse _you_ Potter, but I don't believe you were invited in," Draco sneered, back to his self finally. He stood tall and stepped in front of Harry boldly. "And you are being rather rude."

Reacting purely out of instinct, he shoved Draco to the side, with only some success. Draco pushed him back and looked at him with his nostrils flared and mouth taut. "Do _not_ push me, Potter."

"Dra–! Malfoy!" Hermione shouted. Still caught off guard, she was confused. She ran in between them and faced Harry, trying to formulate an excuse as to why she and Draco were here together. "Harry! What is going on?"

"What have you been doing _Hermione_?" He spoke her name scathingly, like poison, and she flinched. Draco reached for her, but held back. _Not in font of Potter_ he reminded himself. He was becoming more furious as the seconds wore on.

"What do you mean?" she hurried to reply.

"With him."

It was silent. Draco's strong form weakened and he finally understood the purpose of Harry's anger, his uncharacteristic rudeness and cruelty. _He knows. _

"Wha–?" Hermione's mouth opened, her eyes blank, her mind racing. Her heart had stopped.

"I knew it, and I _still_ wouldn't believe it!" Harry shouted. "But you know what makes it best? I find you and you are with him. Brilliant."

His voice was venomous. Never before had she heard such a sound escaping his lips.

"Let me explain–" she began, but he interrupted her.

"And you know, with all the secrets to keep from us . . . with anything to do or anyone to be with . . . it just _had_ to be _him_, right?"

His voice boomed through the tense room and no one spoke.

"AM I RIGHT?" he shouted again, and Hermione refused the tears that threatened.

"You are right," she answered in a small but potent voice. It was strong, but quiet, which in turn commanded silence. "It did."

Draco, unsure up until this point whether or not they would deny it or not, stepped beside her and glared at Harry with intense hatred. To even Hermione's shock, he gripped her hand firmly and Harry flinched as if he had taken a blow to the face. He inhaled loudly.

"So this is it, is it?" he said, quieter now, but possibly angrier. "You're going to betray your friends for this."

"Hermione didn't stutter, Potter," Draco retorted quickly. The use of her name on his lips shocked Harry more so than did the hand-holding. "I believe she made her point clear."

Hermione was dazed. This was surreal. She felt like she might faint, but she stayed strong for Draco. He was being strong for her.

"Hermione," Harry said, and he looked at her with searching eyes. "What are you doing? What are you _thinking_?"

"I'm thinking," she said slowly, not meeting his eyes. She could feel Draco hesitate unsurely beside her and was immediately ashamed that she had looked down of all places. She glared at Harry. "I'm thinking that you need to leave, and stay _out_ of my business."

Draco's eyes might have been wider than Harry's.

"Fine," he snarled in response to her request. "But when he does you in, when he stabs you in the back, when you're left with nothing, I hope you remember the times I saved your life, and the times you saved mine. I hope you remember and you miss it."

Draco stepped forward abruptly and his index finger shook as he pointed it in Harry's face. "And I hope _you_ learn to sleep with your eyes open, Potter."

Harry turned, stomped to the portrait and left without closing it. Hermione shook and her knees finally gave out. Draco turned and scooped her up in one swift moment and lay her on the couch that was, a few minute before, a sanctuary, her euphoria, her heaven. He shut the portrait door and placed both hands on it as he leaned forward with his head down.

"You know he might–"

"Let him."

The words needn't be spoken, Hermione knew that he would be free to tell who he pleased of his discovery. Once he did, if he did, they would not be free to sneak away together.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Draco said sincerely.

Hermione looked at him, and got off of the couch. He heard her approach and he turned to face her properly.

"Sorry? For what?" she asked. Their eyes met, and then their lips.

After a short kiss, he held her and said nothing, waiting for what would happen next.


	23. Of a Party and an Illness

**hey again, sorry these latest chapters have been taking so long. i hope you like them, though. i have been trying to develope Hermione and Draco's relationship in a really prominent way. i hope that has been going well. this chapter might be a little confusing, but the next chapter will explain everything so don't fret. anyways, enjoy and please, please review!**

Chapter Twenty-three – Of a Party and an Illness

It was some time later, maybe six in the evening, when Hermione pried herself away from Draco's form on the couch. They had been laying for hours now, laying and waiting. Waiting for the storm, for the anger, for the tears.

Hermione's anxiety had not subsided. She was scared. Not scared of what they thought, of course, not scared that she had made the wrong decision, because she hadn't. She was afraid that she would hurt them too badly, too badly beyond the repair of their friendship. But this had been a long-time coming, had it not? She had been keeping this a secret since before the Christmas Ball, and that was just the initial kissing and spending time together. The feelings, on the other hand, were a different story altogether . . .

Draco had hugged her for nearly thirty minutes straight until he felt the tears touch his shoulder and soak the shoulder of his shirt. He had scooped her up and lay her on the couch. When she protested, he lay with her and stroked her hair until she had fallen asleep, her eyes heavy from the tears. He was worried that she would change her mind, but there was no way that he would be so selfish as to ask her such a thing when she was in such obvious pain. He was more considerate than that.

More considerate than Potter.

His fists clenched as he thought this. His jaw was set and his eyes were hard as he thought of what he could've done to Harry Potter before he left, running away from the confrontation he had created. He hadn't even stayed to talk things through, or ask for Hermione's side of the story. For all Potter knew, he could have had her under some kind of spell, or had been threatening her! And yet, he left her whilst knowing nothing for certain.

Draco's chest pained him when he thought of ever putting a spell on Hermione to manipulate her, or to hurt her, or to embarrass her, in any such way that would make her shake and cry like she had. How could Potter be one of her best friends? He was shaking again, and he reminded himself that he needed to be still, so that Hermione could sleep.

But then she rose, and he let his arms slide off of her. He suddenly felt oddly cold, and he sat up as she walked passed the chair and glanced at the grandfather clock in the common room. She bit her lip – he restrained from complimenting her as he usually would when she would do this – and turned and walked to the other side of the room, peering outside onto to the pitch black grounds. She began to pace, and Draco watched her grace. He didn't speak; she obviously had something on her mind, no doubt, Potter or one of the Weasely's. He held back the worries that had plagued him . . . he trusted her.

"It's been too long," she suddenly said, still pacing. "Someone should have come by now – Ron, outraged, or Ginny with her questions. Someone asking if it was true, at least!"

Draco said nothing, she was merely ranting. She wasn't asking for his opinion.

"Unless he didn't tell anyone?" she went on, biting her lip again. She crossed her arms around her chest and continued to walk. "But why, _why_ did he come here and yell at me like that? And then just leave me here? It was like he _knew_. Knew for certain. And that's absurd, we were extremely careful!

"And then, to tell me that I would miss him? Obviously he was insinuating that we were not to be friends any longer," she murmured thoughtfully. Surprisingly, her voice didn't even break. "But if he didn't tell anyone, then Ron and Ginny were still obviously going to talk to me, and they are always with Harry, too . . . this is maddening! Unless he told them to stay away from me, he hasn't told them. And if he hasn't told them–!"

Draco was on his feet; she was beginning to get hysterical. He pulled her forcefully into his arms and she didn't resist, but kept her arms crossed.

"Shh," he soothed, stroking her hair again. He was glad that at least the tears had stopped for now. He hated to see her cry. "Just relax."

"I am a terrible person," she muttered into his chest, and he stiffened immediately.

So she did regret it all, then? She did want to be with Potter and the Weasley's rather than him . . . well, he had thought of that. Still, it made him rigid with both anxiety and anger. Not anger towards Hermione, but towards Potter. He was so mean to her, and he definitely did not deserve her thoughts, her worries, her smile . . .

"Draco," she whispered, "what's wrong?"

He suddenly realized he had been shaking again.

He let her go and looked at her with a composed look of non-chalance. He wondered why she looked afraid. "It's alright, I understand. Potter– Harry and Ron and that Ginny girl – they are your friends and you deserve people who have cared for you for a lot longer than I have . . . you're not a terrible person for anything, Hermione."

Hermione stared at him, wide-eyed with disbelief.

"Draco," she said, approaching him, "I am a terrible person because I lied to them. I don't regret one moment with you. If they have a problem with that, they certainly don't have to speak to me if they see it fit."

She wrapped her arms around him and he hugged her back, his face relaxing. He didn't even realize he was smiling until she reached his lips with hers – on her tip toes, of course – and kissed him passionately.

"How could you think I could leave you?" she asked him, her face buried in his chest once again. He was intoxicated by the aroma of her hair.

"I just don't see why you would choose me over them," he admitted solemnly. "You can change your mind anytime you like, you know."

She shook her head. "If I ever do that, Draco, know that there is something seriously wrong with me. And don't believe it for a second."

They stayed there for a moment longer, and then Hermione said. "I have to go and see them."

"What? – you must be joking," Draco said, looking at her incredulously. "He just made you– there's no way he deserves–"

"You're right, he doesn't deserve anything from the way he acted. But you must understand the pretenses under which he was held. He just found out about this, and he has no idea that we've been treating each other any different from First Year to September til now, Draco. The way he sees it, I have betrayed him by letting this happen with one of his–"

"Worst enemies?" He raised his eyebrow in sarcasm.

She ploughed on seriously. "In _any_ case, you two have not managed to co-exist harmoniously. He needs to have an explanation, at least. I owe him that much. When he said, 'I hope you remember all the times I saved your life', he really wasn't kidding. He's saved me more than _I_ deserve, and he deserves this much," she finished.

Draco mulled over it, knowing in the end he wouldn't be able to stop her unless he really wanted to. But she obviously really wanted to do this, so he nodded slowly.

She turned and headed towards the portrait, when she was half way out, she turned and smiled at him. "If I'm not back with enough time before midnight . . ."

"I'll come and find you," he smirked.

Satisfied with his promise, she shut the door and was gone.

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

The train shook uncomfortably, and he swayed with it. _Wuthering Heights_ had not lost its magic, but his mind was elsewhere and the book drooped from his hands and onto the floor without his knowledge.

One person should never be capable to do this to another person. He was going mad thinking about her, and when he _wasn't_ thinking about her, it only hit him harder when her beautiful face would appear behind his eyelids and the sudden wave of emotion was more than enough to take him down, crashing on him over and over.

He was so tired, too tired. Way too tired. He hadn't been able to sleep, because thoughts of her had intruded his mind and trying to get her out took a lot of energy. He couldn't fall asleep whilst in the attempt of doing this. And then, when he did sleep, he dreamt of her. Needless to say, that sleep was restless.

He would have to stop this. And fast. It was just one girl, one school, on year. She would be gone soon, and he could start to manage himself in a more professional manner when there was no anxiety poisoning him, no nervousness or dread, to see her walk through his door. He didn't know if he could control his words if they were alone together again, so he definitely had to put an end to the late-night visits. Although, the last time he invited her to his office . . .

It hit him like a ton of bricks. These feelings were obviously all one-sided. No doubt she was with Draco Malfoy now. He had acted too slow.

No, wait. He couldn't have _acted_ regardless, so this did not matter to him, _could not_ matter to him. And if it did matter, it should be in his favor, because now there would be no temptation. Surely there would be quite a confrontation if he said or tried anything whilst she was with another person. But Draco Malfoy . . .

He couldn't believe it. They had _hated_ each other. Absolutely _loathed_ one another. They had sat as far away from each other on the desk they shared, like the other was poison to them. They had fought non-stop, and had he not enjoyed many evenings' worth of conversation with Hermione? – trying to calm her down and go about things the right way?

Somehow, along those lines . . . somehow these feelings had developed. But they just couldn't be together like he was thinking . . . or at least, it would never last . . .

And yet, he couldn't help but to dread that Hermione had been the one to make the first move, to change that relationship drastically with one little movement of her sweet, full, pink lips. He shuddered and grimaced as he thought of her kissing someone who did not deserve such beauty, such intelligence, such brilliance . . .

It wasn't fair. He hadn't felt this way about any person in his entire life. And when he found someone that was absolutely stunning and smart and thoughtful and nice, and shy yet bold and witty . . . it just wasn't fair. A student. A seventeen-year-old student. Tempting, but strictly immoral. Would he be willing to trade?

He didn't answer his own question.

He watched the scenery slide by, and he awaited the chance to be back where he belonged. He awaited the chance to see her face, even if her smile would be a reaction of a totally different person, now. He might not be willing to risk everything . . . but maybe this would ease his thoughts, his anxiety, his heart. He sighed as he pressed his suddenly-hot forehead to the cool glass of the train's window. Just another day. He could wait that long . . .

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

It took her a few moments of standing in front of the door, breathing heavily and quickly, before she got up the courage to raise her hand and knock. She knocked once, twice, three times and waited.

She could've just recited the password and stepped inside, but she had a wary feeling of caution hovering around her. She needed to be careful. For all she knew, they were all inside at that very moment, talking about the many ways they could cut her out of their lives.

Ron was the person who appeared behind the door. "Hermione?" he gasped.

"Hello," she said soberly, waiting for the angry eyes, the red ears, the shouting.

"What are you _doing_?" he said, sounding exasperated. He pulled her inside and she winced away at his touch, throwing her hands up. "Hey, hey, hey . . . what's wrong?" he asked, wide-eyed. He stared at her. "Did I hurt you or something?"

"N-no," she said, looking at him. It was clear that he didn't know. She let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. "Where's Harry?"

Ron looked disgruntled. "I dunno. He ran off during breakfast. At first, I thought he was just going to start setting up early . . . but when we got back here, he wasn't here either. So, I've been waiting around for you! Now, c'mon, I've barely been able to get anything done all by myself!"

Hermione was pulled into it before she even had a chance. She started by duplicating the Butter Beer that Ron had managed to obtain, and then decorating the room. Though, since Ron was extremely paranoid, he wanted to use a concealment charm so that the decorations would not appear until exactly eight o'clock. It was hard for Hermione to decorate when Ron kept changing his mind about the colors, the balloons and the arrangements of the tables.

"Should the fire be going?" he asked.

"Ron, it honestly doesn't matter," Hermione sighed. "It would be nice, but if not, it will be fine. The party will go fine. Everything is okay! Stop _worrying_!"

Hermione couldn't believe that she was the one giving the 'stop worrying' speech, because that was the only thing she could do. She didn't know where Harry was, and she didn't know how mad he still was. She didn't know if he would decide for or against telling everyone her secret, and she was becoming increasingly aware of the throbbing in her head the more Ron ranted about the decorations and trivial things like the finger foods and amounts of spoons for the punch bowl.

"Stop, Ron, please!" she finally said, turning to him. "We have a half an hour. Go get yourself ready. Ginny said she'll be here, and she'll be here. She's herding the rest of them. By eight oh one, there will be a room filled with happy, surprised and appreciative Gryffindors who will thank you for you effort and planning. Go."

Ron looked torn as he peered around the room. "Alright. Everything _is_ done, thanks to you," he added, and he smiled sheepishly. "I'll be back soon."

As he disappeared up stairs, Hermione sighed and fell onto the couch. She would have to find some way to sneak off before midnight, because if she wasn't in Draco's arms, she didn't know how she would survive the night. This was supposed to be the perfect beginning to a perfect year. She was supposed to kiss the boy who had made her heart leap so fast that she was afraid it was audible, the boy who made her blush when she wasn't embarrassed, the boy who made her want to kiss and hold him like she had never done before, and the only boy that was ever able to honestly convince her, heart and soul, that when she was with him, everything would be alright. He was also the only person ever to make her choose a side opposite Harry.

Hermione felt underdressed when Ron returned, looking bizarrely suave in just dark pants, t-shirt and black jacket. His red hair blazed against his pale skin and Hermione was proud of him for pulling this, and himself, together and meeting a deadline. Ginny traipsed in at seven fifty-eight with everyone. She was dressed to impress as well, and Hermione could see her disappointment as she looked around the room and did not find the person she was searching for. Her efforts weren't wasted though, because many boys were eyeing her black t-shirt and jean skirt with interest. Hermione was only wearing her faded jeans with a white blouse that made her hair look darker than it was. She felt herself frown when she thought of the one person who would look at her with interest no matter what she was wearing.

"What! What are we all doing here?" a girl asked out loud. "It's New Years, and this is our surprise?" She glared at Ginny, who didn't notice and scanned the crowds with her brown eyes.

Lavender than noticed Ron and practically leapt towards him. "Oh, Ron, you look so handsome!"

"What's going on, Ron?" Dean asked. Seamus seconded that and soon the whole crowd was blathering incoherently.

"Wait!" said Ginny, and the crowds fell quiet. The clock chimed, once, twice, three times.

When eight o'clock struck, the room was like a different place. There were a stream of lights twinkling all around the walls, ceilings and stairwells. There were two tables filled with food and drink. The furniture had been moved to one side of the room and the other half, which was now vacant, was announced a dance floor when the music began to play. Hermione had already placed a charm all around the Gryffindor residents to keep the noise from traveling too far.

Everyone's faces lit up, and Hermione could recognize more than one person calling to Ron and Ginny and herself, thanking and praising them. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

The crowd split up. Some headed directly for the food, mostly boys. A lot of girls were on the dance floor, but some went to their rooms to change first. A quarter of the crowd were standing around and just talking, laughing. Within the first half-hour, everyone was busy and entertaining one another. The dance floor was crowded, back to back people were bumping into each other whilst trying to weave their way in and out of what little space could be afforded.

Hermione, not feeling up to dancing with any random boy, managed to get a drink for herself and stood on the outer edge of the crowd that was dancing. The room had already gotten quite warm and she was glad her hair was already up. She sipped slowly at the pumpkin juice and was the only one who heard the door. She wondered who had missed Ginny's invitation and whispers?

She peeked out into the hallway. Neville. She smiled at him sympathetically.

"Hey Neville," she began, "Lost the group?"

"Yes, I did," he replied. He looked awfully pale and his voice was strangely confident for how nervous and embarrassed he usually would have been at being locked out of his own houses' party.

Hermione furrowed her brow. "Are you alright, Neville? You seem sick, or something."

"I am fine," he countered unconvincingly. He then held up something she didn't realize he had been holding before. "I was asked to carry this in for Ron."

"Oh," she said. So that's why he must have been so pale and strained, the box seemed heavy. It was filled with more butter beer. "Strange, I thought we already had all of that inside."

"No, just this one is left," he assured her. She shrugged and held out her arms.

"I'll take it," she offered. "You look tired. Come on, everyone's having a great time."

"Alright," he said monotonously. "Let me hold your drink."

They walked in and Hermione set the box down near the table with the drinks. Neville trailed oddly close behind her and handed her the drink she had had. He then walked away without another word. Hermione stared after him as he disappeared into the crowds. She shook her head. It was her, it _had_ to be her. The stress was making her hallucinate.

So she resumed her spot on the outer edge of the dancing and kept at her one drink. She didn't feel hungry or thirsty, but she knew by the looks of some of the boy around her that if she set down her drink, someone would offer to get her another, or ask her to dance, or try to make conversation. One brunette sixth year with a wide grin kept staring at her and she tried to ignore it studiously but he approached her surely enough.

"Hermione?" he asked, as if he was timid. She smiled in spite of herself and regretted it, because he misunderstood it. "Would you like to dance?"

"I'm actually going to finish my drink, first," she said with grace. He looked disappointed and he frowned at her. "Also, someone has to watch the door."

"Oh, that's true," he said sheepishly. He shrugged. "The dancing won't stop any time soon, I'll find you later."

He walked away and winked at her. Hermione tried to smile with good humor but was only able to hide her frown by lifting her cup to her lips again.

Then, at ten-thirty, there was another knock at the door. Hermione answered it and was shocked beyond belief to see Harry standing there. He looked at her with just as much shock.

"Harry!" she breathed.

He scrunched his face and looked away. "Hullo."

"Look, I know you're mad, but you have to listen for one minute. You can't just walk in and explode on me and then run out, at least be responsible and listen to my side of it!" she began heatedly.

"I'd really like it if we didn't have to talk about this," he murmured.

"Harry," she said, stepping in front of him so he couldn't get inside. The sudden movement made her light-headed. She felt dizzy. What was she saying again?

Leaning against the doorframe, she realized something was wrong. "Harry, wait," she gasped helplessly. He walked inside, his back to her. He didn't answer. But she doubted that he had heard her. Her voice was strained, weak. Why, all of a sudden, did she want to sleep?

She had a very large throbbing pain in her head now. She stepped inside and looked around the room. The twinkling lights were no longer dazzling, they were disorienting. _Flash, flash, flash . . ._

She turned around and fanned herself. She was burning hot. Something was wrong. She felt sick. She felt like she might throw up. _Flash, flash, flash . . ._ The crowd of moving bodies addled her, and made a wave of heat fall over her again. Her vision flashed white, she had to sit down. Cool off.

The room was spinning. She felt her way along the walls, and passed few people. No one seemed to notice her. Maybe she didn't look as bad as she felt. Maybe it was just the stress again . . . just the fact that Harry had left her alone and hadn't even wanted to hear her side of the story . . . and she had to go and see Draco soon . . . what time was it?

She had lost all feel for the time. What if it was too late? Was it midnight already? What was the last time she remembered?

She _didn't_ remember.

She turned and headed upstairs to the girls dormitories. Bathroom, bathroom, bathroom . . .

She found it, but didn't feel sick any more. She couldn't even see herself in the mirror. Everything was a blur. She struggled to find the tap to turn on the cold water, but her shaking hands made it difficult. When she finally managed, her hands were shaking to badly to hold the water so she had to settle for a cold cloth.

She was sweating, and the white bathroom walls wouldn't stay where they should. Next thing she knew, she was moving again. Moving downstairs. One stair at a time, slowly. Don't fall. She was in the right enough state of mind to understand that she was wobbling and shaking too badly to go down the stairs at a fast pace. Slow and easy, she told herself.

She emerged back into the common room feeling worse than ever. Where was Harry? Where was Ron? Where was Ginny?

"Help," she said meekly, leaning against the wall again. "Help . . ."

Nobody heard her. She had no voice. It was gone, she felt too weak. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. Breathe, breathe. Something was wrong with her. She needed to go to the hospital wing. She needed help, medication. _Something_.

She felt her way around the walls again, once more she went by unnoticed thanks to the blaring music and crowds dancing and moving confusingly. Her hot, sweaty hands shook as she moved. Hadn't she had a drink earlier? Where did she put it down? In the bathroom? No, before that . . . she was confused by the small thought.

Suddenly there was a pair of strong hands on her back, leading her forward. The person did not speak. She was relieved not to have to guide herself any longer. They pushed her forward, and again, no one noticed. She felt people bumping into her, and she guessed they were moving through the dance floor. But everything was still one giant blur. Suddenly it was quiet, and she could no longer feel the hands on her back. She looked behind her and recognized the portrait of the Fat Lady. It was empty. No doubt she had gone to celebrate with her friend in another portrait.

So . . . she was in the corridor now? Who had guided her out here? She was alone now, so where had that person gone?

"Oh," she moaned, holding her head. The throbbing was worse now, and seemed louder in her head now that she was out in the hall and away from the music and beating.

She sighed as she felt the coldness on her skin. It was much nicer out here. She sighed again and staggered to her left, not even caring that she would fall and probably hurt herself on the hard cobble stones. Oh well, at least she would be off her feet. Someone would come along and find her eventually. She could just let go. The ground moved beneath her. She closed her eyes and felt a strange feeling of relief wash over her now that she didn't need to support herself any longer.

But suddenly, warm, strong hands were around her waist. They caught her. She didn't see who it was, her eyelids were too heavy to open. This was a strange feeling. She wanted to sleep, but her heart wouldn't stop beating. It was an ominous feeling. Like a warning . . . _open your eyes . . . open your eyes . . ._

Her mind screamed at her but she felt helpless. She suddenly realized she was being moved. She felt the air whisking passed her. She could feel the heat of the persons body against her right side.

She gathered her strength and opened her eyes. The figure was nothing but a dark blur at first, but then the skin was more visible. Dark, tanned skin. Black hair . . . white teeth, a handsome face, a repulsive smirk . . .

Her heart skipped a beat. Horrified, she tried to scream. But she had no voice. She struggled to move her feet. _Kick him, hit him, hurt him . . ._ The most she could manage was to lift her hand lamely and it fell to her side. She moaned in frustration.

"Blaise . . ." she murmured. "Let me go . . . put me down . . ."

He laughed. "Oh, sweety, why in the world would I do that?"

Hermione's heart seemed to rattle inside her. She was suddenly wary, and alert, though her body wouldn't react. "Help . . ." she said again, but her voice was small, invisible. "Help."

He laughed again, the sound made her cringe.

"Baby, you are so sexy," he breathed, his lips at her ear. She felt sick from the motion of moving and swaying. She hoped she would throw up all over him. Where _were_ they? Where were they _going_?

They suddenly stopped. She heard a door close. She was thrown onto a hard, flat surface and Blaise flew at her like a bird with a wide, wild smile of perfect, gleaming teeth.

His lips were on her neck, her collar bone. She struggled, but barely. Her muscles were burning with pain every time she tried to move, and her head was betraying her with every throb, urging her to close her eyes.

Two hands cupped her face, she could barely lift her eye lids to look him in his dark eyes.

"Just relax," he smirked. "You know how this will go, you're a smart girl."

The room was spinning again.

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It was 11:45PM. Hermione was not back yet.

Draco had been pacing for only a few minutes, but the time seemed to drag on and on every second closer to midnight. She had said she would come back, or else he was to go and get her and _bring_ her back. That had been the agreement, right? Maybe she had changed her mind after catching Potter. Maybe they had talked and she had realized how stupid she had been. Maybe she was with Weasely right now . . . maybe he was preparing to kiss her and make her his own when the clock struck midnight . . .

He bawled his fists. No. He trusted Hermione. Even if she were to change her mind, she would tell him to his face. Hermione was no coward, she was brave. She had even said that she wanted to be with him, after all. There was no reason not to believe her.

He opened the portrait and took a breath. To the party, then.

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Harry was furious. Never had he been mad at Hermione like he was now. He was shaking with the effort not to yell and kick his trunk, punch the wall, break the window.

He sat down on his four-poster bed and held his throbbing head in his hands. He had to calm down. Surely someone would notice his bad mood when he went back downstairs to help clean up. Ginny, at the very least, would notice. He hoped she wasn't mad at him. But he couldn't be around anyone at the moment, not with this anger pulsing through him. He didn't want to say or do anything he might regret. As much anger as he had for Hermione at the moment, he knew that eventually the love he had for her would shine through. And he did love her. She was his best friend, almost a sister to him.

How in the _world_ anything ever happened with her and Malfoy evaded him.

He sighed and lay against his headboard. He pulled out a folded parchment and his wand.

He would make the best of this shattered night. He would find Ginny and kiss her at midnight, just as he had planned. At the very least, that would go right.

He tapped the parchment. _"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."_

Just as it always did, ink shone through on the page, and soon names were wandering across it. Dumbledore was pacing in his office, as usual. McGonnagal was no where on the map. Filch was hanging around the Slytherin common room. No doubt they were up to something sneaky tonight, as well.

The Gryffindor common room was nearly impossible to read. The names were all crisscrossed over each other, and the jumble of letters were excruciatingly difficult to read.

Ron and Lavender were stationary, together, by the fire. Big shock.

Neville was all by himself, perfectly still. That was kind of odd, but Harry took no notice.

The big blob was the dance floor, and it was moving, swaying. If Ginny was there, he wouldn't be able to locate her on the map, he would have to go and search for her.

There was ten minutes left until midnight, he should probably get going.

But suddenly two other names caught his attention.

_Hermione Granger_ was stationary, in a small room three corridors away.

_Blaise Zabini_ was hovering around her like a shark circling its prey. Harry jumped up, staring at the map with wide eyes. It didn't matter that he was mad at her. Something was wrong.

Harry dropped the map and grabbed his wand, shoving it in the waistband of his jeans. He flung himself out of the door and flew down the stairs, racing through the middle of the dance floor. He ignored moans and groans of protests as he pushed people out of his way.

"Harry!"

He heard Ginny call him, but he didn't have time to stop. Hermione was in trouble. He didn't even have time to explain. Who knows what was going on, what was happening . . .

He slammed the portrait door open and ran as fast as he could down the long, dark corridor. He was trying to move so fast that his legs just couldn't keep up. He nearly tripped three times by the time he made it to the corner. He rounded it uneasily, nearly slipping when his shoe slid the wrong way against the stone.

Suddenly he hit something hard, and was flung backward. He landed on his side and groaned. Dizzily, he stood again quickly. He drew his wand when he heard another groan that did not belong to him.

Another figure rose from the ground. Tall, slender, broad-shouldered. Pale skin, blonde hair. Harry narrowed his eyes, his heart still fluttering maddeningly inside his rib cage.

"Malfoy," he spat vehemently.

"Potter?"


	24. Of a Capture and a Closecall

Chapter twenty-four – Of a Capture and a Close-call

He brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her lips. She turned her head to the side, but he pulled it back to where he wanted it. She still felt sick, dizzy and confused, but she felt a little stronger now. Whatever was wrong with her earlier was wearing off and she was eager to speed up the process.

Her mind was racing, and it wasn't helping her keep him in focus. He was smirking, still smirking. He was relishing in every moment of this. She felt like she might vomit until her body was empty; cry until she had no more tears. She couldn't believe that she had been, only maybe twenty-five minutes ago, in the Gryffindor common room for a New Year's party . . . waiting until she could sneak off for her kiss with Draco. Now Blaise would be the first lips to touch hers at midnight. Someone told her he was looking for something more than just a kiss, though.

The thought of this festered inside of her, and made the anger more lucid than before.

She raised her hand and swiped at his face, barely clipping it. He grabbed her wrist and kissed it. He glared at her. The look was so full of hate, concentrated with pure venomous spite, that it frightened her. She flinched and lost thought for a moment. Until his hands began to circle the buttons on her blouse. He kissed her again forcefully, his tongue tracing her lower-lip.

She bucked her forehead against his as hard as she could manage. He snarled a curse word under his breath and spat blood out. He had bitten his tongue. The knowledge that she had managed to harm him afforded her a deep sense of satisfaction. She slapped him hard against the left side of his face and rolled away beneath him as he held his face in his hands.

"Bitch," he sneered. He pushed her away and she landed on the ground with a _thud_. She groaned as he stood over her and kicked her. She felt her arm twist in a way that it shouldn't and she shrieked, surprised and pleased that her voice had finally returned. The pain, however, dulled the pleasure. She could feel something wrong with her chest, her stomach. A numbing, buzzing pain . . . a feeling of rushing inside of her stomach . . .

He picked her up and crushed her against the wall, kissing her again. Pain jabbed at her insides like needles. She could taste his blood in her mouth and it nearly made her gag. His tongue entered her mouth forcefully and she attempted to kick him furiously, but he was pressed too tightly against her to make a difference. She fell limp in his grip and whimpered hopelessly.

He pulled away slowly, glaring at her. "I hope your having as much fun as I am."

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" she whispered viciously, shaking from not fear, but anger.

"I'm getting what I want?" he said as a question, as if it was cute.

And he was smirking again. She took her chance. While there was enough space in between their bodies, she kicked him in the shin, and when he fell, she stepped over him and attempted to streak towards the door.

She fell crashing to the ground, gasping as her arm was trapped between the ground and her body painfully. She flipped onto her back to see Blaise' hand was wrapped around her left ankle. She noticed she was missing her left shoe. She slid toward him involuntarily, trying to kick him in the face as he pulled. She flipped back onto her stomach and reached toward the door helplessly.

But in another second she was underneath Blaise' muscular physique, and his lips were trailing along her collar bone and downward. Hermione shrieked but the effort was lost.

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"Get out of my way," Harry spat, holding up his wand. It was lit, and both of their faces were glowing a dim blue. The grounds outside were pitch black, and the corridors were empty and cold. Harry was frustrated by the obstacle to get to Hermione, but he didn't want Malfoy to go with him as if he actually wanted to help Hermione. Harry was her real friend.

"Why so snarky, Potter?" Malfoy asked sarcastically.

Harry stepped forward to the right, Malfoy stepped backward to the left. They began to circle slowly, both wands raised. Harry tried to hide the urgency he felt, but his eyes betrayed him as he looked down the hallway.

"I said _move_," he commanded again.

"And I asked why you have to be rude?" he said again. They were still moving. "You were the one _bounding_ down the hallway, knocking me down."

"_Obviously_ I was going somewhere," he retorted. "If you can understand that much."

"You really need an attitude check, Potter," he commented. "And I don't mean with me. Hermione is more than upset with you."

The mention of Hermione's name, especially from Malfoy's mouth, made Harry cringe. He looked down the hallway once again and swallowed. He could either fight with Malfoy and then go, or just bring Malfoy with him. The ladder didn't appeal to him as much as it should have.

"What did you do to her?" Harry asked, sidetracked. He blurted it out, unable to control his anger. His jaw was set and his eyes were narrowed as he stared at Malfoy with venom.

"Nothing," Malfoy answered immediately. "I would never–"

Harry laughed a single, humorless laugh. "Don't pretend like you have never hurt her before, Malfoy."

"Things are _obviously_ different now," Malfoy retorted emotionlessly. He didn't want to show any regret in front of Harry. It was a sign of weakness to an enemy to show emotion, it showed that they were able to affect you.

"Why should I believe that?" Harry spat, still looking down the hall. He touched his dry lips with his tongue.

The anger made his words fall out. "Because I lo–!"

He stopped, paled, and cleared his throat. "You can ask her yourself."

Harry stared incredulously at Malfoy, torn in between the indecision to strike him with his fist or use a spell to cause the damage. After all, Malfoy's hard head might hurt his hand.

"Not really," Harry snorted, he looked down the hall again.

"I'm serious Potter," Malfoy sneered in reply, ignoring Harry's undertone. "I'm sick of you. But I know you can't ignore Hermione."

"Stop saying her _name_ like you give a _damn_," Harry snapped, and he looked down the hall again.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "What do you keep looking at, Po–? Argh!"

Malfoy tripped backward, landing on the floor once again. Harry burst out in a fit of vicious laughter. Malfoy rubbed his back and pulled out the obstruction that had tripped him in the first place. He held up a black shoe in front of his face and examined it carefully before Harry stopped laughing.

Malfoy stood slowly, looking ridiculous holding the shoe. He furrowed his brow and looked up at Harry.

"Do you recognize this, Potter?" he asked slowly.

Harry didn't answer, he was livid and could barely maintain regular breathing patterns. He bounded forward and pushed Malfoy out of the way, continuing on his way down the dark hallway. Malfoy, still holding the shoe, followed behind him. As confused and angry as he was, Malfoy recognized Hermione's shoe immediately. Whatever reason it was lying in the hallway, Potter was obviously aware of and it did not seem like a good thing.

He wan in step with Harry before they came to the next corner. They took it at the same angle. Harry glared at Malfoy and increased his speed. Malfoy, who was following Harry, glared back at him and stopped in front of him. "Leave me alone, Malfoy. Go away."

"Potter, stop playing your stupid games," he said viciously. Even after running, his breath wasn't ragged. "Where is she."

Harry turned his head again and kept running, torn between the urge to punch Malfoy in the face or trip him. But, both would slow him down and he had already wasted enough time.

Ahead of them, a shriek was muffled behind a door.

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"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Blaise hissed underneath his breath. Hermione coward beneath his form, afraid he would press down onto her injuries further. She wondered what he was talking about. She didn't remember saying anything that would upset him.

Suddenly there was a bang at the door, loud and hard; someone was there, someone would _help_.

Hermione yelled, "Help!"

She couldn't think of any other word. Blaise stood a second later, and he dragged her with him. She fought hopelessly against him but got in a few good kicks before he shoved her into the wall and sneered in her face.

Before he could say anything, the banging at the door started again. Hermione was ready to see anyone at this point. Snape, Filch, Peeves . . . anyone.

Blaise unlatched the window and pushed it open with his free hand. He lifted Hermione slightly and her eyes grew wide. He smirked at her.

"Trust me, I _would_ throw you out of the window," he promised, "but it doesn't bode as well for my cunning escape if I kill you."

He tossed her across the room like a rag doll. He lifted his wand a second later and suddenly the room burst into smoke. The same second the door flew open and two figures flew inside. Hermione, so relieved, let her head fall down, not caring who had come inside.

Draco peered through the smoke quick enough to see Blaise smirking at him from the window. He disappeared a second later. Draco shoved the shoe back to Harry with force and leapt to Hermione's side. The open door was allowing a lot of the smoke to clear quickly. Harry couldn't see properly yet because his glasses were completely obstructed by the ash and dust from the thick smoke. He entered the room, viciously swinging the heeled-shoe as a weapon. Draco, his eyes still trained on Hermione with intensity, tripped him _accidently_ so he wouldn't step on her.

Draco rolled Hermione onto her back and his heart fluttered inside his chest as he recognized her beautiful brown eyes open and look up at him.

"Are you alright?" he asked frantically, in a low whisper. She nodded meekly, smiling a small half-grin. "You're hurt," he said with conviction, his face serious. She closed her eyes and nodded again, slower.

And then, the clock tower could be heard as it shook the school with three powerfully loud chimes. _**Happy New Year.**_

Draco leaned down to Hermione and placed his lips softly onto hers. He wanted to be gentle, she was hurt, after all. But as he pulled away, she kissed him back with force and he obliged, unable to stop himself.

And then, as Hermione kissed him, the room began to fade into blackness and there was nothing.

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Harry glared at Draco, his fists bawled and his arms crossed to stop him from swinging them at the blonde-haired boy just a few feet away from him. The room was dead quiet. The only bed filled tonight was the one Hermione was laying in, perfectly still. The room was lit by several candles. All the drapes were drawn.

Harry's chair was on the right side of Hermione's bed, at the far corner. Draco's was on the left, right next to her head. He was leaning into her, staring at her intently. Harry wondered if he was trying to burn her with his eyes. The evil little Ferret . . . who did he think he was? Harry was her best friend, _he_ should be beside her, holding her hand, waiting for her to wake. But no. He just had to sit there and play pretend that he cared. Git.

Hermione's breathing wasn't shallow, she didn't look as pale as before, and all her broken bones had been healed within seconds upon their arrival. She was merely sleeping. She was exhausted, of course. But Draco would be there when she woke from the medication that had made her even drowsier than she had been. He would be there to tell her she was okay.

"Do you _have_ to sit so damn close?" Harry demanded, in an urgent whisper.

"If she wants me to move, I'll move," Draco said simply, in a low, controlled tone.

They sat in silence for a while after that. Draco was becoming anxious. He wanted to speak with her, find out what happened, make sure Blaise hadn't . . . didn't . . .

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He was getting impatient. She should be awake by now. He wanted to kiss her so badly, wanted to feel her lips move against his in that passionate way they had before she had passed out from the pain. He felt so greedy, so selfish, for thinking of this when she was sleeping off such a catastrophe, but he missed her so much, which was amazing considering she was lying three inches away from him. He leaned closer towards her. He brushed some stray hairs away from her face and moved his mouth toward her ear.

"Wake up, love," he pleaded. "Let me know you're alright."

Harry stiffened at once and stared wide-eyed at Malfoy as he whispered into Hermione's ear. What was he playing at?

Suddenly she was moving, whimpering. He felt his heart rate increase. What had he done? Oh no. She raised her hand and began to swipe aimlessly at the air. Draco caught her wrist and pulled it downward.

"Shh," he cooed. "It's alright . . . shh . . ."

"Let _go_," she demanded. Her eyes were still closed, but they were scrunched. She must have been having a nightmare. He was afraid she was hurt worse than he could help in a place like that. It made his frustration level rise even higher.

A moment later there was shouting and the scraping of chairs. Hermione's eyes flew open. Draco's wand was raised over her bed at Harry, who was on the other side of her bed with his wand raised as well.

"Stop it!" Hermione shouted, sitting up too fast. Her head was spinning. "What are you doing!?"

Harry jerked his head in Hermione's direction, and she was relieved to see his eyes concerned and not angry.

"He was _hurting_ you," Harry assured her. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"_What_ are you talking about?" she asked him.

"He grabbed you, and you told him to let go," Harry said incredulously.

"Harry, I was half asleep, now _please_, stop!" she pressed, raising her hands and pushing their wands down. She then collapsed again onto her bed, feeling drained.

Draco was at her side a second later, his voice in her ear, his eyes staring into hers.

"Sorry, Hermione," he pleaded. "I didn't mean to bother you."

She shook her head. "You didn't. I wanted to wake up. I was just confused."

He smiled a crooked smile. "You _wanted_ to wake up? How do you _want_ to wake up when you're asleep?"

"Well I was only half-sleeping. I couldn't seem to get the whole way back alone," she countered with a lop-sided smile as well.

Harry snorted.

Hermione realized how close she was to Draco now, and gently pushed him back so she could see Harry's torn face.

"Harry, thank you for coming to help me," she said sincerely, her hand gripping Draco's where Harry couldn't see it. Harry glared up at Draco, and then met Hermione's eyes with a soft expression.

"I'm always going to be there for you," Harry promised. And then his face go serious. "What did Blaise do to you?"

Hermione paled, and Draco spat, "Potter, can you _try_ to control yourself? I don't think she needs to talk about this right away."

"Look, McGonnagal or Dumbledore or both are going to be in here soon so I just wanted to know," Harry said in his defense.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked in a rush, glancing between Harry and Draco. "You _told_ them!?"

"Hermione," Draco said, his voice soft and calm beside her, "Potter and I came bounding into the Hospital Wing at ten minutes after twelve, carrying you with three broken ribs, a broken arm and a bleeding skull. You think we could get away with a story like 'she _fell_?'"

Hermione tried not to laugh.

"I don't want anyone to know," she said quietly, looking away from them both.

"What did he do?" Harry pressed. He was angry. There was a tense moment after this, because they all knew what the question really meant. He was asking what he had done to her _besides_ the visible injuries.

"Nothing," she promised, still in a whisper. They both looked angrily skeptical. "Well . . . he kissed me and he . . . he didn't get far, you guys came at the right time. Trust me."

Draco stiffened, eyes strained. "He . . . kissed . . . you?" he said slowly, stressing every word. "He made you kiss him?"

"I made him bite his tongue," Hermione said proudly. "He was spitting out blood the whole time after that."

Draco looked pleased, yet still angry and slightly paler than ususal. Harry didn't look like anything. His face was blank and he was looking away from them.

After that they were all quiet, waiting for McGonnagal or Dumbledore to come and hear their story. Madame Pomfrey had instructed them –well, Harry and Draco– to stay until that had been done.

It wasn't long before Harry's head was bobbing up and down and then he finally nodded off into sleep at about two in the morning. His arms were still crossed, and his head lolled to the side. Hermione smiled at his silly appearance. She felt Draco's hand slide softly along her cheek as he pulled her head in his direction.

"I'm so glad you're alright," he whispered softly, his eyes more readable now that Harry was unable to watch.

Hermione smiled at him gratefully. "I'm so glad you saved me."

"I'm sorry this happened," he said, his voice harder.

"It's not your fault," she assured him. He looked away. She found this odd. What was wrong?

"How did this happen?" he asked, looking at her again. His hand still gripped hers and tightened at this question.

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice hollow. This is what scared her the most. She barely remembered anything before being in the room with Blaise. "I remember the party. I remember feeling deathly sick. I remember roaming through the common room, confused and dizzy. And then . . . I think I remember someone's hands . . ."

She trailed of in thought and spoke again a moment later. "Yes, someone was pushing me."

"_Pushing_ you?" he repeated. "To where?"

"Er," she said uncertainly. She suddenly remembered a rush of cool air. "Into the hallway."

"Someone pushed you out of the room, and into the corridor?" Draco asked her, furrowing his brow.

"Yes, I remember that much," she confirmed. "But when I turned around to see them, they had gone back inside the common room. That's when I fell."

"Fell?" he asked, again, confused.

Hermione shook her head with a sour look. "Well, I would have fallen. But _he_ caught me. I wish I had fallen. It was like he _knew_ I was going to be there, it was like he was waiting for me. I didn't even realize what was happening until I realized he was carrying me somewhere. Even then, I could barely move. My body was burning. My head was spinning. Draco, something was seriously wrong with me, I felt so sick, I could barely think or move. All I wanted to do was sleep."

"Blaise," Draco murmured. "This is all Blaise."

Again, there was silence. Hermione watched him thinking, watched his angry face soften as he turned his gaze back onto her. He leaned closer to her.

"I feel awfully selfish for wanting to kiss you, you know that?" He smirked that beautiful smirk. How had she ever thought it to be an ugly, corrupted thing?

"Why?" she asked, confused.

"You're so hurt," he said sadly. "You went through so much, and all I could think about when you were sleeping was _wake up so I can kiss you!_"

Hermione, as drained as she was, felt herself go red. She smiled bashfully and leaned forward, catching his dangerously-close lips with hers.

He pulled away and glanced at Harry, looking torn.

Draco looked back at Hermione and shrugged. "It's worth the risk."

He leaned into her and kissed her fiercely. It was an urgent kiss, not angry, but meaningful. Hermione didn't understand the meaning behind it though. She hadn't any time to try because the kiss left her head spinning again, left her gasping for air. He cupped her face and leaned down on her. It was hard to stay so quiet, but she knew that if Harry woke, they wouldn't be able to kiss any longer.

"Oh my goodness!" a voice squealed from the main doorway. Draco leapt back into his seat, Hermione wiped her mouth on her arm. Madame Pomfrey turned away her reddening face and muttered, "Sorry, dears. Sorry."

Harry woke at the moment she had spoken and looked around confusedly. "Whashgonon?"

Hermione cleared her throat, hoping her face wasn't as red as it seemed. Draco wasn't red, but Hermione could tell from the look on his face that was embarrassed. He looked at her and from the corner of his mouth whispered, "I think she's more embarrassed than us."

And it was true, she was red for the next half-hour as she busied herself with potions for Hermione at the table by the end of her bed. When McGonnagal entered the room, she looked more stressed than Hermione could ever remember. She suddenly realized that McGonnagal wasn't supposed to have been at Hogwarts tonight.

"Professor, I thought you were on vacation?" Hermione asked.

She looked so shocked to hear Hermione's voice that her eyebrows disappeared into her hair line. "Miss Granger, how are you feeling?" She paused and looked at the other people in the room. "What happened?" she asked in a more demanding tone.

"Mister Potter and Mister Malfoy brought her in just after Midnight. She was a mess. Had three broken ribs, a broken arm – snapped right at the elbow – and a fractured skull. She didn't lose much blood. Though, she must have taken something . . ." Madame Pomfrey turned to Hermione, her cheeks only a light pink now. "Miss Granger, had you taken any potions this evening? – because I had to use twice as much healing potions to dull the pain because something was interfering with the reaction it should have had. There was something in your system that dulled the effect."

Hermione wasn't sure what to say to that. She knew she hadn't taken any potions . . . on purpose. Her eyes widened frantically and she felt her cheeks redden.

"My drink," she murmured thoughtfully. Everyone seemed confused except for Draco, who went stiff and stared at Hermione with shock and horror on his face.

"Your –? Drink, dear?" Madame Pomfrey repeated, clueless.

"Er," Hermione began awkwardly. Her theories about premeditation had only been small thoughts a moment before, but now she was beginning to think that this night had been planned for a while. "I had one drink all night. Once I finished it, I felt really, really sick. Dizzy, and I couldn't think right. I could barely talk or anything. It eventually made me not want to move because it hurt so bad, and then all I wanted was to sleep."

There was silence in the room.

"The same drink all night?" McGonnagal asked her. Hermione nodded. "Was it ever out of your possession?"

Hermione paled now, all the color draining from her face. She tried to hide the reaction, but it wasn't easy. Harry spoke first.

"What is it?" he asked immediately. She saw no point in lying or saying she didn't remember. There had to be a decent explanation . . .

"Neville had it . . . when I let him inside the common room . . . I carried the box of butterbeer, and he wanted to hold my drink. That's the only time I didn't have it before I felt sick."

Again, another awkward silence.

"Mr _Longbottom_?" McGonnagal gasped, incredulous.

Hermione's face was sour, ashamed. "I'm sorry. I know it sounds horrible and unbelievable. But that _is_ the only time it was out of my hands. I'm sorry."

"Oh, Miss Granger," McGonnagal huffed. "Don't be sorry. There will be a good explanation I'm sure, and we'll find out soon enough. Right now, you need to rest. I think, by the looks of you, you'll be fine to return to classes by Monday, unless you don't feel up to it?"

McGonnagal knew her too well. Hermione never wanted to skip classes, even when injured.

"No, I'll be fine," Hermione assured her.

"When can she come back to the dorm?" Draco asked. Harry glared at him, McGonnagal looked slightly addled, and Madame Pomfrey avoided all eyes.

"Well, that's up to you, Poppy," McGonnagal said to Madame Pomfrey. "I must be off. The Headmaster will want to know what has happened. I will speak with you tomorrow, Miss Granger. Rest now."

And when McGonnagal left, Madame Pomfrey turned to them, not looking any of them in the eye, and said, "You'll be perfectly able to return to your dormitory tomorrow afternoon. Now, sleep."

"Er," Hermione asked. "I have to stay here alone?"

Madame Pomfrey pursed her lips and looked from Draco to Harry thoughtfully. "Usually, I only allow one guest to stay the night . . ." she answered honestly. Usually, there would be no choice, but Hermione knew that she was going to have to send both of them away unless she wanted to hurt one of them. Enough had gone on tonight without such trivial things like picking and choosing who would sit in the uncomfortable chair beside her bed or sleep in the uncomfortable cot by the bed.

"Okay," Hermione said. "Well, I'll be fine. I was just wondering, I–"

Draco shook his head and smirked at her. The smile was in his eyes. She liked it like that. "I'll leave," he offered quietly. "Potter can stay. I know he wants to just as much as I do."

He whispered that last part, but Hermione could have sworn that Madame Pomfrey had heard it from the expression on her face. Harry looked shocked.

"You're going to leave?" he asked Draco.

"Of course," Draco insisted. "On one condition."

"What's that?" Harry said, his voice sharp.

Draco shrugged. "If you don't turn around in the next five seconds, you can't complain or be angry with me when I do this."

And as fast as Draco raised his eyebrows and Harry blinked at him, Draco's lips were on Hermione's softly. It was a short, sweet good-night kiss and Hermione was too preoccupied with the softness of his lips to care that Harry hadn't had time to turn around soon enough. He pulled away and Harry sneered at him as he walked passed with a sincere smirk on his face. Madame Pomfrey looked absolutely shocked and confused as she left the room slowly with some towels and linen.

"How can you kiss that ferret?" Harry asked a second later, pushing his chair closer to her bedside. He faked a shudder. Or maybe it wasn't fake, Hermione couldn't tell.

"I could tell you but you wouldn't believe me," Hermione murmured, laying back down, exhausted. She was asleep within minutes.


	25. Of Love and Passion

Chapter twenty-five – Of Love and Passion

For Hermione, the night passed slowly because Draco was not with her. But Harry did make her feel a lot better. Whenever she showed any signs of being in pain he would either give her the potion she needed, or go and get Madame Pomfrey immediately. He talked and talked to her until sh fell asleep, because she was having a hard time. He never mentioned Draco.

In the morning, he ate with her and pretended like he had gotten some sleep. Hermione appreciated his efforts to make sure she didn't feel guilty about the dark circles beneath his eyes, but she was the smart one. He was anxious to figure out what had happened to her, as well. He retold the story of what had happened, and they attempted to piece together her fragmented memory. It wasn't working out all that well.

"I don't understand how you can think Neville would do anything to you," Harry repeated for the fifth time.

"I don't think he did anything to me," Hermione defended herself. "I just know that he was the only person to have my drink besides me, so maybe he knows who might've done something to it. Harry, please stop biting my head off. I'm not forgetting on purpose, you know."

Harry pursed his lips and nodded, and she wasn't sure he had heard her.

Madame Pomfrey didn't keep her word. Hermione wasn't allowed to go back to her dorm until six in the evening and Hermione had a fleeting feeling of suspicion that it was because Draco had been the one to ask what time she would be allowed to leave. Still, Draco showed up at five thirty with a change of clothes for her. Harry glared at him.

"You went into her room? And went through her things?" he scoffed. "Hermione, you honestly trust him that much?"

"Harry _please_," Hermione scowled at him as she swung her legs over the bed.

"Don't worry about it, Hermione," Draco said. "I haven't done anything to earn his trust. We both know that."

"That's ridiculous!" Hermione said, incredulous. "You saved me, too. Harry couldn't even _see_. If you weren't there, it wouldn't have gone half as well and you know it."

"Hermione," Draco reasoned. "You can't expect Potter to take it so well. _We_ didn't even take it so well for the first couple weeks."

"Weeks? _Weeks!?_" Harry hissed. "How long has this been going on, exactly?"

Hermione pursed her lips and looked at Draco. She didn't think it was such along time, but Harry would definitely disagree.

"Well, officially, only about three weeks," Draco answered thoughtfully. "But, unofficially? Hermione, care to estimate?"

She liked how he wasn't trying to cover it up and deny it, because that would definitely bother her a lot more than _this_ attitude. But she still found it a little uncomfortable that he was so easy with words, especially about something this delicate and complicated.

"Idunno," she murmured. "Maybe a month and a half."

"A _month!?_" Harry hissed, looking not so much furious as he did shocked.

"That's about thirty days, if you were confused," Draco quipped curtly. Harry snorted.

"I know how long a month is, Malfoy," he snapped. "Hermione, I have no clue what's gotten into you, but I'm pretty sure your _other_ good friends would like to know what's most recently going wrong in your life."

"Nothings going _wrong_," she retorted icily.

"Whatever," Harry went on. "You still understand what I meant. So, you think on that. I have to go, because as much as I hate _him_, I love you too much and you seem to care if I kill him, so, see you later."

Harry left without another word, and Hermione realized that he was referring to Ron and Ginny. And he was right. Since Harry knew, she might as well talk to Ginny about this whole mess. But Ron . . . would be a different story . . . maybe if Ginny wanted to still be her friend, she would ask her advice about it. If.

"What's wrong?" Draco frowned.

"Nothing," Hermione sighed. "But he's right. I am going to have to tell them eventually. It's not fair to Harry to keep this from them, either. They'll be just as mad if they find out he knew before them."

"Do whatever you like, Hermione," Draco encouraged earnestly, softly. He then smirked, shrugged and added, "They're obviously really your friends, so it will most likely work out in the end. I mean, they probably will try to kill me, but I can take care of myself. And once that awkwardness is out of the way, we can all be friends."

Hermione laughed at his sarcasm.

When they left the hospital wing, the halls were empty because everyone was still at dinner. Draco carried Hermione all the way back to her dorm. She seemed to weigh nothing in his arms at all. It still made her feel self-conscience.

"Draco, I can walk," she explained with a frown. She felt embarrassed.

"Yes, well," he said, "I'd hate for you to trip and land back in the hospital wing. I missed you, you know. Can you think of any other person besides yourself for once?"

He smirked and she laughed.

"I was only gone one night," she added.

"So?"

Hermione smiled. She realized, more from the look on Harry's face than anything else, that she really did care for Draco more than she ever thought she could have been capable with _anyone_. He was so sweet to her now, and it was clear that he did care for her too . . . but the question Hermione was preoccupied with was, how _much_ did he care for her?

It might have been obvious to someone else, but it came as a shock when Hermione realized – as Draco carried her swiftly down the hallway in his graceful manner, as he looked down to her with that half-grin on that perfect, sweet face with those warm eyes – she loved him.

She went rigid in his arms. Love. Love? How in the world could she love him? It hadn't even been two months since she had even given in to the _physical_ attraction . . . and now she _loved_ him? Oh, Merlin. This was . . . unbelievable. Hermione felt so light-headed as she was held in his arms, because everything felt so much more tangible now that she couldn't get the word out of her head. Love. Love. Love. And the fact that the person she loved was carrying her, holding her, made her head whirl.

Did she love him? Really?

Hermione thought to herself with an inward smile. _No. I don't __**love **__him. I am __**in**__ love with him._

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Draco asked, stopping and looking down at her. He obviously noticed her stiff position. She climbed out of his arms and cleared her throat. She was shaking. She felt so vulnerable, and he didn't even _know_ what she was thinking! But . . . what if he did? What if she told him?

"Hermione?" he repeated. "Do you need to go back to the–?"

She shook her head quickly. "No."

They continued to walk. They reached the portrait within five seconds. He had carried her the whole way. They walked inside and shut the door behind them.

Draco eyed her suspiciously. "Something's up. Talk to me."

Hermione didn't look at him. It was hard. She did want to say something, mention it, maybe start a conversation that would lead there . . . but she was afraid that she'd be so obvious that he would know right away . . . and that wouldn't be so bad . . . if she knew how he felt, too. It would be a horrible feeling to tell him, and then have him reject here like he had rejected so many other girls. So many other, better-looking girls. So many other more interesting, less 'academic' girls . . . Why in the world would she be that lucky?

"Stop ignoring me, please," he implored, coming around to face her. Her expression obviously bothered him, because he looked serious when he spoke. "If you're worrying about anything Potter said, don't bother. You are the one that knows what's best for you. It's your life. You can make any decision you want if you feel like it's the right one according to you . . . Hermione, please talk! You're scaring me."

She sighed and looked at him at last. "Draco, I want to tell you something. But, I don't think I can."

He was silent, and he furrowed his brow. His expression softened. "Go ahead."

"It's not that easy!" said Hermione, exasperated. She rubbed her forehead with her right hand.

"What is it?" he ventured further, in that velvet-smooth voice that could make her oblige to anything.

She looked up at him and sighed again. So what if she looked pathetic? Or stupid? Hadn't the last few months proved to her that she can't live inside the perfectly-drawn lines all the time? Hadn't she learned to take risks? Hadn't she learned that good things can come from following your instincts – your heart? She would have to put herself out there and see what would happen . . . because she had had enough of guessing what could've been, especially after the night prior. It made her realize that life's too short, or it _can_ be. She wasn't going to waste it being so stressed over all of the small things in life. She needed to enjoy her life and not take it for granted.

"I'm going to try and say this so it makes as much sense as possible," she began. Miraculously, her voice wasn't even shaky, so it was so good so far. Malfoy nodded shortly, still looking confused, and now a little nervous. "When this first started – you and I, I mean – I was so confused. I'm referring to the simple attraction I had towards you, because that's all it was then. We were still fighting like dogs and cats. When we started having decent conversations, and I realized that there was this connection or _something_ between us, I'm not going to lie, I was very scared. You and I were never 'supposed' to be like this, and you know that. We were supposed to go on fighting all year long, and go our separate ways, and maybe never see each other again."

That hurt Hermione, and she could see Draco flinch as well. But she ploughed on, because she had already started.

"Then we kissed and everything changed in an instant. Suddenly I thought of you as someone that I could really be with, and I wanted to be with you. That scared me even more, because I knew that my friends would never accept it, and I knew – or thought – that you could never possibly feel the same way. Anyway, turns out, we're not such a bad match. And as much as I would like to say I planned everything up until this point, I definitely did not and everything we have is spontaneous and down right accidental. But I think that's why it went so far. I didn't know when or if I wanted this to end or stop or for things to go back to the way they were . . . but in any case, I think I should just be honest and for once just try to take a little leap, because between the two of us, you're putting a lot more at risk."

Hermione took a breath, and she hoped that what she said made sense. Draco still looked confused, but he seemed to understand her words at least.

"Draco, I think . . ." She wanted to look down and avoid his gaze, but she wanted to see his reaction, so she looked him directly in the eye and spoke quietly, but clearly. ". . . I fell in love with you."

His eyes were wide, and his perfect, soft lips parted just a little bit. His head tilted a bit and he shook it. He narrowed his eyes in thought at her.

She couldn't say anything, she was breathless, speechless. She wasn't sure if this was rejection or not. She was scared again.

"Hermione," he said in that honey-tone she loved. She looked at him reluctantly. "You should know, I mean, if it hasn't been obvious . . . that I fell in love with you a long time ago."

Hermione stared at him. "What?" she gasped.

He leaned into her and kissed her. This kiss was different from any other kiss that had taken place between them. It was soft, deep, and this time Hermione could read the meaning loud and clear as if he were shouting it at her. He was in love with her, too. He loved her.

He pulled away, and so did Hermione. She couldn't breathe. There was too much going on inside her head.

"If . . ." she started, panting still. "If you do . . . then what was that look you gave me? When I told you?"

He regarded her thoughtfully and sighed. "I just really don't believe there is any way that you could ever fall in love with a person like me. If I had ever thought it was possible, I would have told you a long time ago. I was sure I was out of luck."

Hermione smiled involuntarily. But that was so absurd! How could anyone be with him and not fall in love with him? It was ridiculous.

"You really love me?" he asked, in a suspicious tone.

"I really love you," she assured him. It was so much easier to say it now that she knew he loved her back. He leaned in and kissed her again, this time longer, though. They broke apart a few minutes later.

Hermione smiled at him and took his hand. "I want to go to bed. Come on."

"I don't want to make you sleep on the couch after you slept in the hospital wing last night," he frowned. "It's alright. You go to your bed, and I'll go to mine."

"I don't want to sleep on the couch," she said simply.

"Okay, well goodnight then," he said. He kissed her again quickly, but as he pulled back, she kissed him hard and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Draco," she said.

"Yes?" he asked, still looking oblivious.

"Let's go to bed," she said again.

He frowned, his eyebrows still knitted together. "Hermione, you're not making any sense."

Hermione, once again, took his hand and headed towards her staircase. They were half-way up when he stopped and tugged on her hand.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What do you think you are doing?"

She raised her eyebrows. His eyes widened.

"Hermione, you have got to be kidding," he said, his tone flat.

She frowned. This time, she was the one who was confused. Wasn't the boy supposed to want to do this? And wasn't he especially good at this? Did he not want her?

At her expression, he spoke again. "You don't want to do this."

She sighed an angry sigh and threw her arms in the air in frustration. "_How_ do you know what I do and do not want to do!"

"Because I know you by now, and well enough to know that you don't want to do this," he said simply.

"Stop being so arrogant and understand what I am trying to tell you," she said, looking him straight in the eye. "I love you, you idiot."

"Well you don't have to do this for me," he countered, his tone was kind of panicked.

"The world doesn't revolve around you, Draco," she commented with a smile. She kissed him again.

"You are going to kill me," he whispered.

"What?" she asked, incredulous.

"You are the most dangerous creature I have ever known," he said.

"Draco."

"You tell me you love me, and then . . . _this_? Are you trying to . . . to–?"

"Love you? A little, yeah."

There was a short silence. Draco looked up at her and just when she thought she might have to call it a night and drag him onto the couch, he kissed her back ferociously and she had to regain her balance. But it was gone a second later because he literally swept her off of her feet and into her room, their lips never parting. He walked slowly to her bed and lay her down, his lips still moving with hers.

He left a trail of kisses along her neck and her collar bone. He kissed her ear and whispered. "I wish I deserved you."

Hermione rolled him over and straddled him. She even surprised herself. "I wish _I_ deserved _you_."

She leaned down and kissed him, running her fingers through his hair. It was so soft.

He sighed and rolled over onto her again, slowly. "You deserve the world, you deserve everything, anything you want," he whispered again into her ear. She was getting goosebumps from his breath against her neck.

"Well I want you," she retorted playfully. She lifted his shirt above his head. He was breathing heavily now.

He continued to kiss her, and then began to slide her shirt over her head slowly. She shrugged it off hastily. Her breathing was uneven now as well. She wrapped her arms around his neck. It may have been pitch black in the room, save for the moonlight splashing in from outside the window, but she could see his beautiful pale skin, his blonde hair, his perfect lips, his muscular chest . . . it all intoxicated her.

He kissed down her chest until he reached her naval and then kissed all the way back up to her lips. He kissed her for a long time.

"You know I've never done this, so I don't really need to say it . . ." she said nervously, her voice broke. He smirked an uneven smirk. His lip quivered.

"Believe it or not, love, I'm as nervous as you are," he promised, leaning down and kissing her again. Hermione didn't know how to explain the feeling he gave her when he kissed her, when he was near her, when they were touching, but it was pure bliss. Her Eden. Her sanctuary. Her heaven. Her peace. Her love.

He ran his hands down her sides to her thighs and back up to her shoulders. Her arms were stretched above her head. She was smiling. She could feel his hands shake just a little as he began to loosen her jeans. She couldn't believe she wasn't shaking with nervousness herself. But something about him made her feel safe. She wasn't going to worry about so much anymore. She had done enough worrying for three life times by this point, and she was seventeen years old.

In that moment, she knew that she would be just as much in love with him as the moment she realized she had fallen so hard.

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

It was impossible to fight it. He had tried a couple times, tried to accept Hermione's judgement, tried to understand where she was coming from . . . but he could only think of how much he hated Draco Malfoy, and how much he himself would hurt inside if Hermione was hurt by Malfoy.

Harry was pacing. His thoughts were not wandering, they were stuck in the same place that they had been since Dobby had first sought him out by the fire that night. That night changed everything for him. For the rest of the year, and maybe the rest of his life.

That may have _sounded_ extreme, but there was always a ripple effect. He had been around long enough, been around Voldemort long enough, been in the wizarding world long enough to understand that simple yet complicating fact. There would _always_ be a chain reaction.

And yet, as much as Hermione had made it clear that she had chosen Malfoy, and as much as she expressed feelings for the ferret, he couldn't but help to feel angry at Malfoy, and not at Hermione. At first, of course he was angry with her, because she had lied to him, and she had . . . kissed Malfoy and Merlin knows what else. She had betrayed him. But then he realized she was the good guy in all of this. She was brilliant and beautiful and she was so generous and cared beyond all possibility for all of her friends, and anyone who deserved compassion had hers.

So, this simply meant that Draco Malfoy couldn't resist such an angel. But she was Ron's and Harry's and Ginny's best friend, not his experimental girlfriend, or whatever he called her. Harry wasn't going to let Hermione hand her heart over to that . . . Ferret. He could only hope that hadn't happened yet, because the way they talked about each other, it seemed like they had already began that process.

Harry felt panic rise in his chest, a combination of worry for Hermione, and hatred for Malfoy. Also, what would Ginny and Ron say? He didn't want everything to fall apart because Malfoy couldn't just not be a stupid, evil Ferret for one last year, the last few months that they all had to be around each other. After so many years of being best friends, and so close and practically family, the four of them couldn't get mad at each other and fight over some one like _Malfoy_. He wasn't worth it, no matter what Hermione was deluding herself with.

A second later, Harry realized a name he had thought about a few seconds ago. Dobby.

The next second, he bounded towards the trunk at the end of his bed and pulled out a box that still had some Christmas wrapping paper still attached to it. He opened it and pursed his lips. This might be the only way to make sure.

He called Dobby's name, hoping that may work. He didn't want to go search for him .

A second later, there was a loud _crack_ and Dobby the elf stood, or rather bowed, before him with a large grin. At the look on Harry's face, however, his expression changed to a confused one.

"Something, wrong? – Harry Potter, sir?" Dobby asked with a furrowed brow, his large orb eyes swimming with confusion.

"Dobby . . . I need to ask a really, really big favour."

**okay so that was that chapter haha. I know it was a bit shorter than the rest of them but I didn't want to put in the beginning of what's supposed to happen in the next chapter because it wouldn't flow as smoothly. Anyway, hope you are enjoying the more frequent updates and ps I really enjoy all of the niiiiccee looonggg reviews :) and I am really impressed with some of you who are pretty close to what Blaise actually had done. Oh and I would just like to compliment one reviewer who said that the map never lies because you are absolutely right, it doesn't. So! The next chapter will be done soon. Please review :)**


	26. Of a Misinterpretation & Good Intentions

Chapter twenty-six – Of a Misinterpretation and Good Intentions

It was cold. The window had been left open just a little, and the usually-warm office was freezing. He came inside, set his suitcase down and placed his coat over his desk chair. It would have been hard for a stranger to find the window, but he knew this messy office well enough – after all, he had been the one to make the mess. He shut the window and used his wand to create a fire in the stone fireplace near the two-seated sofa that had just been placed there.

He sat down in his chair and sighed. Tomorrow classes would begin, and he didn't even pay any attention to the fact that it wasn't the idea of teaching students that brought such a smile to his face. It was a beautiful smile that made him smile, a knowledgeable mind, bright, round brown eyes that lit up when the intellect behind them excited, honey-gold ringlets and ivory skin. Yes, he had pictured this in his mind enough times to describe it in a second.

It was a New Year, and along with that had come the resolution to let it all happen. Stop walking the line. It was simple enough, and still included a life-time's worth of risk. And he liked it. As long as he would know, as long as he wouldn't have to wonder forever . . .

Admittedly, it felt like he _had_ been wondering forever, because even though he had only been gone from the school for two weeks – two weeks, two days and sixteen hours to be exact – every second could feel like an eternity when it was impossible to catch her smile, her glance, to hear her voice . . . He felt like a fool, and yet, it did not bother him as much as it should have.

There were much worse people in the world, after all. Voldemort. Greyback. Professor Snape. Draco Malfoy.

He smiled at his own little joke and leaned back in his chair. He wondered, really, how Hermione could see _Malfoy _as deserving to kiss those lips, look into those eyes, hold those hands . . . but then again, she probably didn't see herself the way he saw her. That would be normal. But she wasn't normal. She was brilliant, fantastic, gorgeous, an intellectual, a humorous, amiable, generous, compassionate, thoughtful person. More than a person .. Better than a regular person, anyway.

As frustrated as he was with himself, the thought of her made him more serene than anything else. He hoped that when he saw her tomorrow, he hoped that when they talked, that when he smiled at her . . . he hoped she would know.

It was a meek sort of hope, it was definitely a long-shot. He only hoped that she would know that he really hadn't given up on her. He only hoped that he wouldn't have to approach her again and spill out his feelings again, only to be rejected. He hoped that maybe, there was an easier way.

After all, he lied when he said he was sorry in that letter. He wasn't sorry at all. How was he supposed to be sorry that he had met such a person? How was he supposed to be sorry that they had become such good friends in just a few short months? How could he think of her and feel sorry or regretful? There was a few things he felt when he thought of her, but those definitely weren't any of them.

He had only wanted to make her feel more comfortable, he only wanted them to _at least_ be good friends without the awkwardness. He didn't want to make her feel bad over his inexplicable, inappropriate and wearisome feelings for her. If nothing else, he would wait for her. They were friends, it was normal for friends to stay in contact. Plus, she was in his class. He would be at her graduation. She was the type of girl to keep her word. He would ask her to stay in contact with him. One night, maybe in the distant future, maybe in six months and a few days . . . he would call her up, say he was near wherever she was, they would meet, and he would tell the truth. What could go wrong _then_? They would be both very capable of a date, a pleasant conversation. There would no longer be those complicating boundaries.

And, if he was to understand her previous claims, she had felt something more than friendly feelings towards him too, at one point at least. This gave him further hope, further ignition. Of course, he would fight for her . . . if there was a small chance that she would be with Mr Malfoy at the time . . . but he doubted it. They would go back to their regular routine of hatred soon enough, and he would be right there to ease the pain, to comfort her, to build on their friendship.

Yes, he had been away far too long from this place, and he had a lot of catching up to do.

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Morning came quickly. Hermione woke at seven sharp. She opened her eyes, only to see Draco's resting ones right in front of her face. His breath was kissing her neck. He was warm. He was hugging her. She smiled. This could not be real. Heaven had never been explained in such a way, though. She definitely had not died.

So then, it _was_ real. She was in love with the boy she had hated for six years prior.

"_My only love sprung from my only hate."_

Hermione remembered that line from Romeo and Juliet. It was so relevant it made her smile again. Draco Malfoy, you are a Romeo if there ever was one, she thought.

Suddenly his eyes were open, his beautiful grey eyes. She had never seen such a non-colour that made her want to smile so much. He kissed her forehead, he kissed her nose, then he kissed her lips and smiled when she smiled. He laughed.

"You seem so happy," he said lightly, not pulling away just yet.

"I am happy," she assured him.

Suddenly they heard something coming from downstairs in the common room. Hermione sat bolt-right up in her bed, as did Draco, only his arm came across her body as he stared at the door. She felt a little ashamed that she appreciated this when they might possibly be in some type of danger.

"Stay here," he growled, climbing off of the bed. He was wearing nothing but plaid boxer shirts and her favourite black muscle shirt.

"Draco," she whined. If there really was some danger, she didn't want him to go out there and face it alone, especially in nothing but his underwear.

She stood too. She was wearing his shirt from the night before and a pair of shorts that were invisible underneath it. She tossed him his wand – after digging it out of th pile of clothes on the floor.

He smirked at her as he caught it with easy grace.

"What?" she asked.

"Hm," he mused, tilting his head at her. "Do you think people would realize what was going on if you wore my shirt to class?"

She giggled. "What are you talking about?"

He shrugged. "Nothing, it just looks pretty good on you."

She smiled and rolled her eyes, picking up her wand.

He suddenly looked serious as he pulled on some pants. He rolled his eyes now.

"Oh, please," he scoffed. "Like I'm going to let you come down and fight some monster before you've even had your breakfast. You stay here, and I'll go behead the dragon. Then I'll bring you some pancakes, alright?"

Hermione pouted. "You're going to need some help with whoever is down there."

"And why do you think that?" he asked skeptically.

"Because, chances are it's a teacher. No one else has the password and the lady in _our_ portrait would scream to high heaven if someone had _barged_ their way in here instead of reciting the password."

"And?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"You're going to have some explaining to do, after you come out of _my_ room in your pajamas," she said, smiling. She then walked over to the bathroom door, waved her wand and it disappeared so that he had no other way out. She turned to him. "I'm coming."

"Fine," he murmured. "But stay behind me, okay? If that's not too hard for you?"

She smiled. "Okay."

So he opened the door and peeked downstairs slowly, cautiously. It felt so weird to be in such a good mood when someone was in their home uninvited. He suddenly shut the door and pulled his head back. He looked at Hermione with his lips in a straight line. Obviously they were in no danger.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, confused.

"It's an elf."

"What?" Hermione asked. "I told all of them that they weren't allowed in here to clean!"

He shrugged. "Well, can I _please_ go to my room and change now? We have class in an hour and a half."

Hermione pursed her lips. She wanted to go bounding downstairs at that moment and tell the elf to leave, but she didn't need anyone seeing her the way she was. She nodded at Draco absent-mindedly, waved her wand so that the door reappeared and headed for her closet quickly.

Draco caught her arm and spun her around. He hugged her close and kissed her again.

"Forgot to say good morning," he whispered.

She smiled and kissed him and they parted.

After she was dressed, she simply threw her hair up into a high ponytail. Who did she need to dress up for anymore?

She went downstairs, pouting about the elf, and was shocked to see that he was still in the kitchen. As she drew nearer, she recognized the fidgeting creature with orb eyes and large, adorable ears.

"Dobby!" she said, smiling. "Good morning. What are you doing here? You know I don't like you cleaning up my mess. Besides, I'd like to think that we do a pretty alright job keeping the place ourselves."

"Morning, Hermione, Miss," he said, stuttering. "I just wanted to do you something special."

She suddenly realized that there was food on the stove cooking. Bacon, eggs and fried potatoes. She furrowed her brow.

"Dobby," she said slowly. "Why are you making me breakfast?"

He looked a little confused, and then a little torn. But it passed too quickly to make Hermione ask about it and he replied, "I am the one who told Mister Harry Potter about you and Mister Malfoy. I am a thousand times sorry, Miss."

Hermione was silent, staring at Dobby for a moment. She wasn't mad, just shocked, and relieved that it hadn't been their mistake, _they_ hadn't slipped up. Dobby was a genius. So she didn't have to worry that they weren't being secretive enough any longer. And the mystery was finally solved, as well.

"Oh, Dobby, that's alright. Don't be sorry," Hermione assured him. She smiled warmly. "It's better that he knows. You actually saved me the trouble of telling him. So I should thank you."

He looked so guilty as she said this that she frowned.

"Alright, Miss," he murmured. He turned to finish the breakfast. Hermione shook her head and sighed.

"Dobby, please don't feel bad," she said. "I am fine, Harry and I are fine now. Everything's alright."

"Okay, Miss," he said again, turning and nodding with what Hermione was positive was a fake smile. "Will Mister Malfoy be joining us?"

"Oh, yes," she said, smiling. "Draco!"

He came down the stairs a few moments later, in his school uniform. He frowned at her.

"So you decided to stick with strictly your wardrobe then, I see."

He smiled and approached her. Once he reached the kitchen, he realized Dobby's presence and stared at him.

"Dobby?" he said. "Nice to see you."

Dobby, again, looked so torn and guilty that it made Hermione frown.

"Dobby's making us breakfast," she announced, sitting at the table.

"Hello, Mister Malfoy," he greeted, bowing.

"Oh, you don't need to do that," he said uncomfortably. He lifted Dobby into a straight position. "And thank you for saving me the trouble of making breakfast."

Dobby's mouth quivered, and Hermione thought he might break into tears, but he turned and scooped the food onto two plates.

"Dobby," Hermione said, trying not to sound critical, "you can eat with us, you know."

"No, no miss," Dobby said, shaking his hand so that his ears flapped. "I wanted to cook you two something special to make up for what I've done. It wasn't a nice thing to do without coming to you first, Miss."

Hermione smiled. "I already said not to worry. Please join us."

"It's alright, Dobby has to go and work anyhow. Must get started on lunch."

With that, he placed the food and drink onto the table with some salt and pepper and was gone. Hermione frowned.

"What was he talking about?" Draco asked, confused.

"Oh," Hermione said, realizing that he hadn't heard Dobby's reason for the breakfast. "He was the one who had told Harry about us."

"Really?" Draco asked, not angry, just curios. "Well, he doesn't have to be so sorry. I mean, it would have been a million times harder to tell him yourself, wouldn't it?"

"That's what I said!" Hermione argued. "But, he always feels so bad and so guilty over these types of things. He feels like he owes Harry for freeing him, and since Ron and I are his best friends, he always tends to look out for us, too. He must feel like he has betrayed me or something."

Draco shook his head. "Poor elves. Are they all like that?"

"Lots of them," Hermione said, shrugging. She didn't want to get into this right now, she was sure that she would go into rant-mode if she did. "Let's eat."

So they dug into the delicious breakfast that Dobby had cooked up for them out of guilt.

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"How did it go?"

Harry was eager. He had been sitting on the edge of his bed when Dobby had appeared and then he had jumped up. He now paced the length of the room as Dobby stood very uneasily.

"It went well, sir," Dobby assured him, looking down to his feet.

"So you made them breakfast, and they ate it?" Harry repeated, more to himself and not as a question. He stopped and turned and looked at Dobby. "You saw them eat it?"

"No sir, Dobby left. Dobby couldn't stand to–"

"Dobby," Harry said in a softer voice. "I already said that this really has nothing to do with you. This is _my_ way of protecting Hermione. You know that I love her. She's practically my family. If anything ever happened to her, I would die. Your doing a good thing, Dobby."

"Yes, sir," Dobby murmured. Harry didn't have time to try to convince him any further. What was done was done. This was what was best for Hermione, and everyone, anyway. It was better for her to see him for what he really was before she began to believe his lies and fall for him. Hermione was infatuated, and that was all it was. She had never had a real boyfriend before, and when Malfoy did whatever he did, she was swept off her feet by his simple gestures of amiable conversation and flirting ways. Harry was not blind, and he could see how he worked the rest of the Hogwart's girls just the same. He made them fall for him so he could get what he wanted, and Harry knew what that was, and then he moved on to the next girl that he wanted.

Harry would not let Hermione go that far with an evil little ferret like Malfoy. There was no way.

All Harry had to do was to make sure that Hermione saw what he was for real. However, he had wracked his brain thinking of something to show to her, to help her see the truth that she had somehow overlooked, but there was nothing of recent or relevance that he could come up with. So, and though it pained him to lie even for the best of reasons, and even though it would be to save Hermione from the likes of Malfoy, he knew that Malfoy must have done something to convince Hermione that he wasn't what he actually was. Harry would not stand for someone like that to treat Hermione like scum for six years, and then decide to pretend like he's turned good because he likes the way she looks.

So, since he couldn't _find_ anything to make Hermione see light . . . he had no choice but to . . . _fabricate_ something. It was wrong in some ways, but the means would justify the ends. They had to. For Hermione's sake. And for Ron's heart's sake.

Harry cringed every time he thought of seeing Ron's face if he found out about this. He would be so broken. Harry didn't know if he would be able to forgive Hermione for that. He would be able to look over her lies to him and the feeling of betrayal and hurt he had known, but Ron was a different person, a different scenario. He had loved Hermione since probably second year. They belonged together, couldn't she see that? So what if it made him a lousy Quidditch player? What could Harry do about that? It was Ron's happiness that mattered. And Hermione's happiness. And her safety.

And as long as she was with the likes of Malfoy, in Harry's eyes, she was not safe at all. He could barely stand the thought of her being in the same dorm with him. And now he had to endure thoughts of them _cuddling_ together on that stupid couch? He could barely see straight when his thoughts would wander in that direction.

"Harry Potter, sir," Dobby piped up. "Sorry to interrupt your pacing, sir, but Dobby has to go now, sir. And also, you said that you must seek out Professor McGonnagal and the Headmaster. It is close to class time sir, this would be the best time for your action, sir."

Harry started at Dobby's voice, and realized he had been more stomping than pacing across the room. He nodded at Dobby with his lips in a thin line. "Thank you, Dobby. For everything. I promise it's okay. Stop worrying."

Dobby nodded and with a _crack!_ he was gone. Harry took a breath. It was now or never, and by the time never came around, Malfoy may have gotten what he was after . . . Harry took off for Dumbledore's office.

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Hermione had just cleared the last of the dishes when it was time for them to leave for class. She would make a short appearance in the Great Hall – to see Ron and Ginny and Harry, as per usual. Draco would also stop by at the Slytherin table to maintain his image, of course. They weren't going to get sloppy just because love was involved now. Hermione smiled at the word.

It was just sinking in now, what she had done last night. What she had given to Draco. She had given him her heart, and her soul, and herself. She had never been prepared to do that before. She was now shaking with excitement. Of course, it hadn't _all_ been bliss. It was, obviously, her first time. But she had never thought that the love she felt could nearly drown out the pain.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" said Draco from her left, as he swiped up his bag and grabbed her hand. "You're shaking."

She threw herself into his arms and hugged him as tight as she could it was the only way to stop herself from shaking. Hold on tight.

He smiled and kissed her forehead. "You know what? – you are the only girl to ever make me nervous."

She smiled and looked up at him. "You're the only boy to ever _not_ make _me_ nervous."

He laughed. "I noticed. Last night I was shaking as badly as you are now."

"I love you," she said to him.

"I love you, too," he said back. He kissed her for a long time and then pulled away. "Shoot, we have class in forty minutes. We still need to head to the Hall."

Hermione sighed. "Yeah, it's only a few hours, though. Not even, we have our lunch hour, too."

He smiled. "You _are_ evil."

She smirked his smirk and said, "Would you rather I be good?"

"Not a chance," he said, looking serious. Letting go of her hand, they headed out into the hallway. As they walked, Hermione tried to look emotionless, as bystanders were soon a factor. But the hallways were so loud with people recovering from their holidays, and reacquainting themselves with their friends, that Hermione and Draco were able to talk about real topics without fear of being overheard.

Hermione stopped talking when she realized Draco had been silent for the last few minutes. She looked at him. He was a lot paler than usual, and a thing layer of sweat covered his face. She recognized his shirt sticking to him as well.

"Draco," she said anxiously, panicked. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head, biting his lip. Hermione looked at him incredulously. "Don't shake your head at me, I can _see _you!"

But he didn't get a chance to reply because Neville ran up to them, breathing heavily.

"Hey guys," he gasped. Hermione stared at him, wide-eyed. Did he not remember New Years? Or had it been all in her head?

"Hey, Neville," she greeted nervously. "What –?"

But he cut her off. "Dumbledore wants to see you two in his office, right now."

Hermione stared at him, and looked to Draco, who looked more like he was concentrating on not throwing up all over Neville. "Er, Neville? Malfoy isn't feeling well. I was going to walk him to the hospital wi–"

He interrupted her _again_. "McGonnagal told me no excuses, sorry. She seemed angry. She sent someone else to get Zabini, too."

Hermione gaped at him, not bothering to look at Draco, because she could see him turning green out of the corner of her eye. "Okay," she surrendered. "C'mon Drake– Malfoy."

So she dragged Draco behind Neville.

"What's _wrong_ with you?" she whispered carefully, walking ten paces behind Neville. They were out of everyone's sight now.

He looked at her. He didn't look so green anymore. The sweat seemed to be deterring. "Nothing," he said automatically. Hermione shook her head at him. Why did he have to act so tough?

They reached the Gargoyle and McGonnagal was waiting, tapping her foot. Neville had been right to make Hermione come. McGonnagal looked _furious_. It wouldn't have been good for Neville to show up empty-handed.

"Thanks, Longbottom," she said, nodding her head. Her tone was curt, but polite. She didn't seem to be angry at Neville.

"No problem," he murmured. He turned to leave but she caught his shoulder.

"Sorry, but you're presence is requested, as well," she said irritably. Hermione wasn't surprised, but Neville seemed horrified. She could see why. There was no _obvious_ reason for him to have to be in the same room as Hermione, Draco and Blaise Zabini.

McGonnagal recited the password and they all scooted up the stairs. The doors flew open and Dumbledore sat behind his desk as always. But he didn't look as happy, or even content as he always did. He looked deep in thought. He was staring at Harry.

Hermione was only a little shocked to see Harry. She had a very good idea what this was about already.

"Sit," McGonnagal commanded of all of them. They all did what they were told immediately.

"Alright," said Dumbledore serenely. He observed the room carefully. "Obviously, as incident has occurred that needs taking care of."

Hermione, Harry, Neville and Blaise looked each other. Blaise with a scowl, Harry with a straight, intent face, and Hermione and Neville both look very nervous and anxious – for different reasons of course. Hermione was merely uncomfortable. Neville must have been scared out of his mind. Hermione wondered why Draco looked so calm. She wondered why he had sit so far away from her. She wondered why he wouldn't look at her. Maybe he was still feeling sick?

"Obviously, Mr. Zabini, I will like to hear your side of the story, first," Dumbledore said politely, sitting back and placing his fingers in a triangle. "If you could please do so."

Blaise sneered and looked down. "What's the point? You already know everything."

"That's true, I supposed," Dumbledore mused. "But if you would like to deny anything . . .? Now's the time. Or add anything?"

"No," he said rudely, not looking at the Headmaster. Hermione glared at him, glad there were witnesses in the room to stop her from what she would have liked to do to him.

"Very well," Dumbledore nodded. "I just have one question for you then. How did you manage to include Neville into your plans?"

Neville looked so shocked that he turned white and stared at Dumbledore, still looking horrified, and now also apologetic.

"I'm quite certain you didn't just _convince_ him to do so?" Dumbledore continued.

"I imperioed him," he spat, as if everyone in the room was causing him problems, as if they were the cause of them.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, sitting back. "I see. Neville, you may leave now. Professor McGonnagal, will you please take him to the Hospital Wing before his first class and explain to him what he needs to know."

Dumbledore gave McGonnagal a significant look. "Of course, Albus," she agreed immediately. "Come, Longbottom. Stand up, that's it."

She helped him up, glared at Draco, and left the room with a sheet-white Neville.

"So, as I understand it, Blaise, you and Draco planned this for some time. You then used the Imperious curse on Mr. Longbottom, so that he would give Hermione the potion and lure her out into the corridor. You both then–"

"Professor Dumbloedore!" Hermoine blurted. "Draco did not help _Blaise_, he helped _me_."

How could Dumbledore ever get the impression that Draco had something to do with that incident other than saving her from a demented Blaise? This was ridiculous! She turned to Draco for some support, but he wouldn't look at her. He was shaking again, slightly.

Dumbledore's eyes turned on Harry, who didn't change his expression. "Harry?"

Harry responded immediately. "That's not true. I found Hermione with both Blaise and Malfoy."

Hermione stared at Harry. Why was he _lying!?_ "Harry!" she scolded, but Dumbledore held up his hand.

"This doesn't seem to be adding up," Dumbledore mused, he seemed unsurprised.

"Just ask him," Harry said. Of course he was referring to Draco. Hermione sighed with relief, at least now someone else would be on her side.

"Mr. Malfoy, did you assist Mr Zabini in assaulting Miss Granger on the night of the 31st?" Dumblore asked slowly, staring Draco in the eye. Draco did not stutter.

"Yes."

**OKAY! Don't bite my head off just yet, PLEASE! This is all according to plan. Any questions or theories are welcome to be submitted with your niiiceee and super loooong REVIEWS :) I hope you enjoyed that chapter, up until the last word at least. sorry it took a little longer than I thought. the next one MIGHT be posted before monday. maybe. if not, definitely by next saturday. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW :)**


	27. Of Falling To Pieces

Chapter twenty-seven – Of Falling to Pieces

Her heart was beating in her ears; the only think she could feel was the hot blood rushing through her. Hermione gaped at Draco with wide eyes. This was not possible. He saved her . . . he kissed her . . . he brought her to the hospital wing . . . hadn't he?

Hermione drew a shuddering breath and stared at him. "No."

She could feel herself falling. The world was no longer right. The walls in the room were not staying where they should. She felt nauseous. She loved him so much and he was going to sit there and lie like this? Make her feel like an idiot? Why?

_Stop lying, stop lying, you fool. I love you . . . _

These were the only thoughts she had. Nothing else was getting through. She was startled, shocked, and in a rush to make her heart stop this aching . . .

"Hermione – are you alright?" Harry asked in a panic, "Professor, she's white as a sheet. She's shaking – what's–?"

But Dumbledore simply turned to Harry slightly and raised his hand. Harry was silent.

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore repeated. "Once again, did you _help_ Mr. Zabini in the assault made on Miss Granger?"

"I did," Draco replied. Hermione was shaking terribly now, staring at him with her mouth hanging open. Blaises' eyes had shifted to Draco as well, but he remained quiet.

"Mr. Zabini," Dumbledore said a little uneasily, turning to Blaise. "Is this true?"

Blaise looked at Draco, who looked no where except straight ahead, and then looked Dumbledore in the eye and said, "Yes."

"I see."

The room was silent. Hermione couldn't breathe. Her head was spinning. Draco loved her and she loved him. They had been falling in love for weeks, for months . . . the entire Christmas break had been a dedication to their relationship getting stronger and real and better . . . she had never trusted anyone as much as she had trusted Draco. And she still trusted him, he was hers. She loved him.

Her heart was aching as she breathed. Her head pounded constantly. She could barely concentrate as Dumbledore told Blaise to leave and go somewhere. She watched him in a blur.

"And Mr. Potter," Dumbledore began, but before he continued Hermione had stood. She was oddly stable. She walked over to Draco, stood directly in front of him and stared into his emotionless face.

"You said you loved me," she said, not quietly. Nobody moved, nobody spoke. "What was that?"

He did not answer, but he looked at her, his eyes were strained and heavy with thoughts that he didn't verbalize.

Hermione began to lose the stability she had, her mind slipping, her voice shaking. "Don't you love me?"

Her voice was a raspy whisper, and it broke. Again, no one in the room spoke, no one moved.

"No," he said. Hermione felt whatever colour had been left in her cheeks drain away. She felt suddenly dirty. She needed to take a hot shower, wipe away the last two months; all the thoughts of Draco she had had, all the kisses, the feelings . . . last night . . .

"You don't love me?" she gasped, more to herself.

"I don't love you," he answered anyway.

Harry caught her before she realized she had been falling. But she pushed him away and looked to Professor Dumbledore. She was strong enough to reject his helping hand. She was strong enough to look Draco in the eye and ask him if he loved her. But she wasn't strong enough to stay calm. She needed to be alone or she might break into a million sad pieces.

"Professor," she said. "I think I will take a sick day . . . that night really took a toll on me, and I think that I tried to get better too fast."

Dumbledore nodded politely, looking at her with imploring eyes. He then waved his wand and the doors opened. He looked to Harry and Malfoy. Hermione walked slowly out of his office with her hand shakily sliding down the railing. She walked down the stairs and into the corridor. She made it passed the first and second landing and even stood and waited for the staircases to change. She stared at nothing, felt nothing. She was numb. There was nothing where everything should be now. Instead of having it all, she had lost it all.

He didn't love her.

He didn't love her.

"_I don't love you."_

It was so unlike him . . . so unlike the person she loved, the person she knew . . .

Maybe she didn't know him, maybe the person she had known was a fake.

But that couldn't be . . . how could you fake such a struggling, slow process? How could you fake that kind of emotion? How could you tell someone your most intimate secrets, lay yourself out there for them to see, tell them everything, make yourself vulnerable – and fake it all?

It just wasn't right.

Hermione didn't say the password, or at least didn't remember saying it, but next thing she knew she was in the common room. It felt so cold, so empty. The table was clean, the dishes were done. The fire was out. The place was spotless. Her bedroom door was open.

And then, memories from last night hit her like a ton of bricks and she fell to her knees as if that had actually happened. She began to hyperventilate. Oh no. Oh no.

Every kiss .. . . every touch . . . last night was bliss for her, but nothing but lies and smut for him . . . apparently . . .

She didn't want to believe it, but it was hard not to when he just blurted out those answers. She guessed he just couldn't lie to Dumbledore.

His lips had been on hers so many times . . . his lips on her neck, her chest, her arms . . . his body moving with hers, her hands in his hair . . .

Hermione clawed at her clothes. There were now tears streaming down her face.

"What – did – I – do?" she gasped, crying her eyes out. "What– did – I – become? How did I _get_ here!?"

Hermione was crying so hard that her head was pounding even harder, making what pain she could still feel worse. Again, she felt dirty; in need of stifling, scalding hot water. Soap. Water. Hot. _Clean_. Fresh.

She stumbled her way to her room and headed into the bathroom. One look at his door sent her into spasms of tears and gasps again. She fell at the floor next to the bath and hung limp over the edge.

"I love – him – so – much," she gasped, crying her hardest. She was ripping into two pieces. She could feel a hole in her chest forming, separating her. She was going to fall apart. She crossed her arm over her shoulder as the other hung into the tub. She turned on the water as hot as it could go. She cried.

Her tears soaked her face. Her hair was matted to her forehead and to her cheeks from the moisture. She was sweating too, because the steam from the tub was filling the room. It was even harder to breathe now. She used her wand to lock both doors, turned off the water and lay on the floor motionless, with the steam reddening her face and fogging the mirrors. She stared at the ceiling, tears running from the corners of her eyes and into her hair. Her body shook with her sobs, but she couldn't feel a thing. She rolled onto her side and curled into a ball. She closed her eyes tight and hoped she would wake.

What made her cry even harder before she fell asleep, was that she wished she would wake up from this nightmare in Draco's arms.

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"Harry, you'd better tell me _right now_," Ginny Weasely scolded with her best glare.

Harry looked away and rubbed the back of his head.

"It's nothing, Ginny," he lied. She was even beautiful when she was angry. But he couldn't even concentrate on that right now, the only thing he could think of was Hermione.

He had just sat down to lunch. No one had seen Hermione all day. Ginny was worried. Ron looked quite apprehensive as well.

"Don't lie to me like that," she snapped. "Something's up! It's all over school that she was brought to the Hospital Wing on New Year's. You know something, I _know_ you do!"

"C'mon Harry," Ron piped in. "She's our friend, too. We have a right to know."

Harry felt trapped. What was he supposed to say? If he lied, it wouldn't be of any use because they would both bombard Hermione with questions when they seen her. He wasn't going to ask her to lie. He was sure that he should probably leave her be for a while anyway . . .

"Look," Harry sighed, defeated. "Don't make a big deal of it, because it's over and done with, but . . . on New Year's, Blaise imperioed Neville and –"

"_Imperioed?_" Ginny gasped. "Are you kidding?"

"Is Neville okay?" Ron asked suddenly, searching the room for him. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen him this morning either–"

"Can you let me finish?" Harry said, exasperated. They nodded. "Okay, so, Neville gave Hermione a potion that Blaise made. Nobody knows what it was yet. Just some kind of potion that makes you sick and dizzy and tired or something. Madame Pomfrey said something about 'dulling the senses and reactions'. I don't know. But, she drank it and then somehow, apparently Neville pushed her out into the corridor, and Blaise and Malfoy were there."

Harry watched them pale. Ginny was the first to get angry.

"You're telling me, that Malfoy and Blaise _Zabini_ did – what did they do to her?" she snapped, her face red. Ron was glaring at the Slytherin table now, his fists clenched.

"They didn't do anything. By the time they got her to this little room, I had seen their names on the Map. I ran to find her. I knew something was wrong," Harry explained quickly.

"That's why you ran away?" Ginny asked, looking both angry and relieved. "Oh."

"Yeah," Harry said awkwardly. "I didn't really have time to explain. I'm not sure if Hermione wants you – or anyone – to know, so don't tell her that I told you. She's not feeling the best right now."

"The potion is still making her sick?" Ginny asked. "What–?"

"No, no," Harry said, shaking his head. He really didn't know how to explain this part. "It's just . . . emotional stuff, I guess. It was a pretty intense night . . ."

"Oh," Ginny said solemnly. It was so weird for Ron and Ginny to sit there and listen to this, knowing they probably couldn't helped in some way. It was a numb sort of awkwardness.

"Don't go looking for her, either, please," Harry said suddenly. "I'm pretty sure she just wanted everyone to think she had just taken a sick day."

They looked at each other for a moment, each occupied with their own thoughts and sympathies for Hermione, and then began their lunches in silence.

Over at the Slytherin table, Draco sat at the far end alone, not eating. He pushed his food around on his plate, staring at nothing. He glanced up at the staff table, where Dolop was scanning the room with a furrowed brow and a confused expression. Draco scoffed at him. He was definitely looking for Hermione.

He felt his stomach tie in knots.

What was wrong with him?

He hadn't helped Blaise . . . he loved Hermione . . . why did he say those things?

Maybe this was some type of automatic reaction or something, saving Hermione from what he really was capable of . . . but was he capable of something like that? Was he more like his father than he would like to believe? Was this the best for Hermione – if he would stay out of her life and let her become a better person, instead of dragging her down to his level?

He was so torn he couldn't see straight.

This morning he had felt so ill, and in those moments of pain, all he could think of was how much he loved Hermione and how much no amount of pain could take that away. It made him feel better. Now, he was without her and she was at the dorm, probably kicking his things around, throwing them out of the window, maybe into the fireplace. Who knows. She was probably livid with him. She probably hated him just like she had in September. They were right back where they had started – he was the evil, nasty Slytherin boy and she was the smart, beautiful, perfect, Gryffindor girl that he loved.

Well, that wasn't _exactly_ where they had started, but he couldn't stop loving her.

So why did he say those things! It was so weird, like he wasn't conscience – like he was watching someone speak for him. It was so surreal. And then Hermione had left the room . . . Dumbledore had said something to him about meeting with him again this week . . . and then sent him to class. He didn't have enough energy left in him to argue or not attend class. It was easier to go to class, because he would be told what to do. He didn't even have enough energy to make his own decisions. He felt drained, dead, ripped . . . broken.

Draco stood, he wasn't feeling sick any longer, and he was definitely not feeling weak, but he wasn't hungry. Food held no interest for him. Who cares if it tasted good or made him feel better? The woman he loved was hating him somewhere in this castle and it was all his fault.

He walked toward the exit, and as he drew nearer to the other end of the table, he could hear Blaise talking and snickering with Crabbe and Goyle. Balise stood and sneered at Draco with a self-satisfied look on his face. He looked happy. Draco didn't make eye contact with him as he continued to walk.

"Draco, I knew you had it in you," Blaise said as they were closer now. "So I guess this means you actually got her to go all the way, then, right? If you were looking for an escape?"

He burst out laughing. Draco flinched at the words he had used. How could he make one of the best nights in his entire _life _sound so crude, and wrong, and disgusting? Draco's blood was boiling as he took another step. If Blaise wasn't such a sadistic _evil_ bastard, none of this would have been happening. If none of this were happening, he and Hermione would be sneaking off right now to have a quiet, secluded lunch together. He would still be able to kiss her, touch her, talk to her, know that their love was real and that everything was okay . . . at least when he was with her and as long as he had her.

Draco's jaw set, his eyes darkened and his muscles clenched. His nostrils flared as he glared menacingly at Blaise and gave him the most intense, angry look he was capable of. Without looking, without stopping, Draco swung his right arm as hard as he could and punched Blaise directly in the face. Blaise went flying into the hard stone, ground, and the Slytherin table erupted in confusion.

Draco kept walking, not caring if any teachers would want to punish him. There was nothing they could do that would make him feel worse than he did now.

Harry, Ginny, and Ron watched with gaping mouths from the Gryffindor table as Malfoy left. Harry's gut began to churn. Something was off . . . this wasn't right . . .

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0OO0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

He was nervous. Today, for the first time since he had started teaching, he had tried to look good. He had made sure his tie was on right and properly, he had worn a suit that matched and the cloak that went over it, and his hair was somewhat presentable. But she hadn't even attended class! And what made his mind twist a little more, was the fact that Malfoy looked so miserable and dead, so much paler than he had remembered, and his eyes seemed to droop so low, like he barely had the energy – or interest – to lift them.

He had searched the lunch room for her, never once stopping. Who cares if someone saw him? He could be looking for _anyone_ as far as they all knew. But he would find her. They had to talk. He had to tell her that he wanted to be there for her. He wanted to be her good friend. And then he would work on his gradual plan. He only had to wait for her graduation. But the only way this would ever work, was if she knew that he was her friend and that she could trust him. And yet, she was nowhere to be found! What a dilemma.

So, after his last class, he sauntered out into the corridor of rushing students and looked for a red head.

He spotted Ginny Weasely walking down the hall with a look of consternation spread across her face. He waved to her gently and motioned for her to approach. She gave him a confused look and turned her head, checking if he was looking at her. When they made eye contact again he nodded and waved her over again.

"Hello, Professor," she said unsurely.

"Hello Miss Weasely," he answered politely. "I was just wondering, since you happen to be good friends with Miss Granger, if you could take her the homework for today?"

It was a good excuse to talk to someone about Hermione, wasn't it? Ginny looked absolutely thrilled.

"Of course," she said. Michael handed her two books and a few papers. One of the books wasn't homework – Hermione would know that – but the rest really was work that she had missed. After all, it was the first day back, they had a lot to get going on.

"Thank you very much," Michael said, inclining his head and smiling a charming smile. "By any chance, do you happen to know if she is ill?"

Ginny looked away. This concerned Michael. What could it be? He waited. He didn't want to seem eager – he wanted to be discreet about all of this. There was no other way.

She finally spoke. "Well, er . . . she was in the Hospital Wing on New Years. Er, she's probably just resting, really."

He tried to loosen his muscles a little and relax his tone as he replied, but it was hard. "Oh, very true. That sounds misfortunate for such a holiday. Do give her my regards."

"Okay, I will," Ginny said. "Thanks Professor."

With that, she trotted off down the hall and Michael was left to worry about Hermione.

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Hermione woke several hours later, her back aching from sleeping on the floor. She couldn't help it though – she had cried so much that her eyes had been impossible not to close. Crying always made her tired. Besides that, she hadn't really gotten much sleep the night before.

Her chest ached with pain and her eyes welled again. She looked around her, breathing deeply and quickly. The sunlight was bright outside, and she guessed that it was nearly four. That meant that classes were over . . . and that meant he would have to come back here eventually . . .

She began to panic. She couldn't see him now. She was falling apart from the inside out. She couldn't let him know how badly he had broken her. She had been so strong, so independent before he had come along. And then she had fallen for him and that had all disappeared. She felt like she couldn't breathe without him. She couldn't _breathe_. How pathetic was that?

But she didn't even care. She needed him more than ever, now that she realized she loved him, and he was gone . . . he had betrayed her . . .

She couldn't believe that, though. It was impossible. Everything over the last few weeks did not justify this ending . . . ending . . . the word made her eyes well up again. So it was at an end. No more bliss, no more unending happiness, so more random smiles and games and kisses, no more excitement . . . she was falling, and she could feel it. She hugged herself again.

She sat up and leaned against the tub, which was full of cold water now. She leaned forward, still holding herself, and tried to ease the throbbing in her head.

_Stop breaking, stop falling, stop hurting . . ._

She was stronger than this. She was supposed to be smart! She was supposed to be brave and witty and . . . not in love with Draco Malfoy . . . what a fool she had been!

Suddenly she heard something in the silence around her. A distant knocking. Oh no. Someone was at the door. Didn't they know she was 'sick'? How did they expect her to come to the door?

Hermione heaved herself up and was shocked by her appearance in the mirror. Her face was red and splotchy and her eyes were even redder. Her hair was a mess and some of it was matted to her face, where her tears had dried while she slept. She couldn't believe she had slept on the bathroom floor all day. She unstuck her hair from her face and took a few deep, shuddering breaths. She tried not to think about anything as she moved downstairs slowly. She was shaking. She couldn't stop it. It scared her.

She put her hand on the portrait as another few knocks echoed from it. She opened it slowly, not knowing who she would be greeting.

"Hermione, I brought you–" but Ginny Weasely stopped talking as soon as she met Hermione's eyes. "Hermione! What's wrong! What's happened?"

Hermione stared at the usually-vibrant red-headed girl standing in her doorway and had no words to offer. What was she to say? That she had just had her heart broken? Ginny didn't even know that she had been in love . . . she didn't even know who it was . . . and Hermione doubted that she would even believe her. She would probably think she had gone mad, living in some fantasy world where Draco was good, and had a heart . . . in a world where he was capable of love . . .

"Hermione! Talk to me right now!" Ginny demanded, her tone frantic.

Again, nothing she could verbalize.

It hurt so badly to even try to say anything, to try and explain it . . . because she would have to say the words . . . she would have to _say_ that she was in love with Draco, and that he had broken her heart. She would have to say it . . . and that would make it so real, so final . . . it scared her, and it made her heart beat faster and faster. Why was she panicking about this?

Because she couldn't imagine loving someone else.

She couldn't imagine kissing someone else, and feeling the way she would when she kissed him.

Hermione felt herself curl inside. It hurt so much. Why? _Why_ did she do this! She should have known better!

"This has something to do with Malfoy, doesn't it?" she said suddenly, shocking Hermione. She opened her mouth, but Ginny interrupted her. "I knew it! Hermione Jane Granger, you have got some explaining to do."

Ginny came in, pulling Hermione behind her and into the common room. They sat down on the couch. Ginny turned to her promptly, her eyes soft and concerned. She looked stressed.

"What did he do?" Ginny asked carefully. She obviously didn't know how else to word it. Hermione didn't blame her.

She shuddered a sigh and fell limp into the couch. She had not the energy for this right now. She was so tired . . .

"You can talk to me . . ." Ginny persisted. "I need to know what's wrong with you! You're scaring me!"

Hermione looked to her friend and recognized fear in her eyes. What did she think? – that Hermione was going to die? Hermione doubted it would be that bad compared to the pain she felt now . . . All she knew was that he was gone . . . it was all gone . . .

"He's gone?" Ginny said suddenly, and Hermione was shocked that she had said that aloud without realizing it. Maybe she was more tired than she thought. Ginny furrowed her brow and said, "Do you mean Malfoy?"

Hermione didn't see the point in trying to stay silent. Ginny knew who it was about already. She was smart, she would figure it out eventually – especially since Harry knew _everything_ and would be no use to keep a secret around Ginny.

"Yes," Hermione said meekly. Her voice sounded sad, even to her. It was weak and breaking and small . . . Hermione frowned as she realized that wasn't exactly an incorrect description of herself right now, either.

"I don't understand," Ginny said, shaking her head. "He's gone? Malfoy's gone? What does that mean?"

Hermione thought about it. What _did_ that mean? "He left me."

"Left you where?" Ginny said immediately. She didn't understand yet.

"Alone," Hermione gasped. She could feel her eyes welling up. Ginny's eyes widened. She recognized this catatonic state now . . . the tears . . . the inability to talk . . . It was a broken heart if she had ever known one . . . and she had.

"You and Malfoy–?" Ginny gasped

Hermione said nothing. She was concentrating too hard on not thinking about his name. She said it so casually, and it made her insides light on fire and burn her. It hurt to hear his name now . . . it hurt to think about him . . .

"Hermione," Ginny said, "You were with Malfoy?"

"Please stop saying his name," Hermione begged, closing her eyes.

"Sorry," Ginny said. "But . . . you were?"

Hermione nodded, turning her head to the side and staring at nothing.

"For how long?" Ginny said softly after a moment of silence. Hermione could tell she was restraining from getting angry, or asking more detailed questions. Hermione wouldn't have cared if she got angry. She was angry with herself right now, too.

Hermione shrugged. She felt Ginny move closer to her on the couch. She felt her touch her hair and pull it away from her face gently.

"Did you love him?" she whispered. Hermione was overwhelmed with emotions she never knew she had. She couldn't reply to that question; she was hurting enough.

"I don't know what to say . . ." Ginny said truthfully. "I mean, it might be easier for me if you would have told me . . . but this is kind of . . . I mean . . . wow."

Hermione laughed a single, humourless laugh. "Ginny, you have to go."

"Hermione, I know you're upset, but I'm just trying to help," Ginny protested, not in an angry tone.

Hermione shook her head. "I know, it's just, he's bound to be home soon . . ."

"Oh, right," Ginny murmured. She sounded astonished.

"I'm sorry," Hermione mumbled.

"Oh, Hermione," Ginny consoled, "Don't be sorry. I wouldn't have told me either."

Ginny smiled a half smile, which was lost on Hermione, and hugged her. She headed for the door. "Listen, I'm not going to tell Ron, if you were thinking about it or anything. I have a feeling Harry already knows. Er, are you going to come to classes tomorrow?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't want to go."

Ginny stared at her like she didn't know her. "Okay. I brought your homework from Muggle Studies. Dolop gave it to me . . .he sends his 'regards'."

Hermione was a little lost at this information.

"I'll come by tomorrow . . . please, get some sleep or something . . . we'll talk more then," she said, and then she disappeared behind the portrait. Hermione couldn't move. It was weird knowing that Ginny now knew about . . . him. About nearly everything.

Realizing she was risking a lot by sitting down here for too long, she dragged herself up to her bedroom and crawled into her bed . . . she couldn't believe she was hiding from him. Before, and it seemed like a distant memory at this point, she recalled a time where they would go and hide together. Once again, she wasted too much time wishing she was having a horrible nightmare as she fell asleep.

**alright so, this is the point in the story where we add a little more conflict, if you hadn't noticed haha. well, the next chapter will be done shortly. and btw i found a lot of you angry at harry and i laughed, I'm glad so many of you weren't clueless as to what he had done. anyway, enjoy. :)**


	28. Of Admiration and SelfRighteousness

Chapter twenty-eight – Of Admiration and Self-Righteousness

A week. She hadn't been to class in week. He had all of her homework. She had done a great job. But why was she not coming to class? Given, everyone deserves a sick week here and there . . . but he had a strong feeling that this was something besides an illness.

Michael was sitting in his classroom, marking the essays from his fourth year class. He missed Hermione dearly. He wished they would talk soon. He was beginning to feel a little paranoid. She couldn't have been not coming to class just to avoid _him_, could she? No, that was outrageous. From the looks of Mister Malfoy, lately, it appeared that maybe he had something to do with her absences. He couldn't be sure, and he wasn't about to go asking around about it. After all, he was still trying to hide his feelings for her. But a _week_? Hermione would never miss that much school . . . he knew her enough to know that.

He had been tempted to go and visit her, but he had stopped himself. He wouldn't bother her if she was ill, and if she was trying to avoid him or just be alone than he wasn't about to disturb her and get on her nerves. She was practically perfect. She had earned the right to privacy. She was more than entitled to have an off week.

Still . . .

He sighed. These papers weren't about to mark themselves, as much as he would've liked. He bent over his desk and hoped that she would be back tomorrow. It would be Monday – a new week. She was bound to be back . . . he hoped.

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Draco was laying on the couch, staring at her door. He had not seen her once since Monday – since that horrible meeting. Every day he would wake and shower – and she would have magicked her door so that it had disappeared – and he would head off to class. He had had detention every day (even Saturday and earlier this morning) because of his suspected involvement with what had happened to Hermione . . . so by the time he got back to the dorm, she had had a full day to do what she needed, and she would hide away in her room again. For a week.

For a week he hadn't seen her smile. A full seven days. He hadn't seen her face. He hadn't held her, kissed her, spoken to her . . . He sighed a sad sigh. Well, not any more. He would sit here for how ever long it would take for her to see him and talk to him. After all, how mad could she be? She had to talk to him sometime . . . he had to explain . . . he had to tell her . . .

It was passed midnight now. She had been in there since he had gotten home at four. He would not let this continue. She had to eat sometime. Sometime would be soon. It had been a stroke of luck that he had spotted her wand on the floor beneath the couch earlier on. Now she would have no other way to get food.

He realized she must've dropped it in a hurry to get upstairs and away from seeing him, and he frowned. How mad could she be!

Just then, her door opened and she appeared.

Draco's jaw dropped.

Beneath her reddened eyes, were dark circles. Her hair was tied back and was messy. Her cheeks were shiny, like tears had recently streaked them and dried. She was wearing her pajama shorts that he loved and her school blouse. Startled at his presence, she stared at him with a trembling lip.

"Hermione," he breathed.

So she hadn't been cursing him all this time. She hadn't been hating him.

She had been crying, hurting. She had been _sad_.

He was so ashamed that he could hurt her so much, that he blurted, "I'm so sorry."

Hermione stared at him. She was in shock from his presence so unexpectedly that she barely heard his words. Once she comprehended them, however, she said, "You . . . are . . . sorry?"

She couldn't tell for what – was it for _helping_ Blaise, or hurting her? Or was he sorry that he had ever started this thing to begin with?

"Hermione," he countered immediately, standing, "I never meant this to hurt you so bad, this is all my fault . . . but you can't . . . you can't honestly believe that I did that . . .? How can you?"

She regarded him carefully for a long time, shaking. He wanted so badly to reach out and hold her, help her, make her stop hurting, but he knew it was best to wait until she understood.

"Because you said that you did it," Hermione gasped. She was trying her hardest not to cry, and it showed. It made his chest ache. "You sat there – and you – you – "

She stopped to breathe for a moment. He couldn't believe that she could think it was true . . .

"How am I supposed to – supposed to think that you never could have done that, when you sat there and _admitted_ it to the entire world . . . when for so many years, there would have been no question . . . what am I supposed to believe when you tell me one thing, and then contradict yourself . . ."

Every word scraped her dry throat. He could see tears shining in her eyes. It hurt not to move and touch her, kiss her, stroke her hair, tell her she was beautiful . . .

But, and he suddenly realized this as she stared at him with wide, confused eyes, she was right. He had no credibility. He was the reason that she believed he could do something like that. He had been so evil, rude, nasty, spiteful . . . for so long. How was he supposed to expect her to believe him over Potter?

He couldn't.

Especially when he _'admitted'_ his involvement right in front of her.

So, he was the bad guy once again. Why should she have to be with a guy who could so easily be blamed for something like this? She was so much better than that . . .she deserved someone that was good to the core, who came from a nice family who never dealt with dark arts and the evil part of the wizarding world . . . she deserved everything . . . How could he every fool himself into believing that he deserved her? How crazy had he been, to reach out and take what he did not deserve?

She would do much better without him, and he did not face the dilemma of finding a way to tell her that, because she already believed that he was evil . . . again. She no longer deluded herself with thoughts that they could be together and that it would be right. She no longer believed in their love.

"You're right," he said quietly, looking away from her shaking, trembling body that he loved. "You'll be much better off."

With that, he made a beeline for his room and did not breathe another word. He knew she hadn't moved. He didn't try to hear her crying, because he knew it would only make him want to cry. It hurt so much to have to let her go . . . especially this way, especially by hurting her and letting her believe that he had done that to her. But she had every right to believe that he had.

He just wished that he had known it would go this way so fast. If he had, he never would have done what he had that night after they had returned from the hospital wing. . . he would have let her stay just as innocent and perfect as she was when he first fell for her. But it had been so hard . . . she had told him she was in love with him! In_ love_ with him. Nobody had ever loved him before. Well, his mother did. But this was a different type of love, this was a love that made his knees weak and made him want to kiss her forever, never stop holding her, never stop feeling her breath against his neck, never stop keeping her warm . . .

But, she didn't deserve to look back on that and cringe. Now all she would be able to think about when she remembered it, was _what a mistake_. He hated to be her mistake, but he was a mistake. It was his own mistake to think that this was leading him down the right path . . . it was wrong to think that they could be together and it would work. She could do so much better. Look how much wrong he had done her by! What was he thinking?

As he lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling, he knew that he had done the right thing. She would be better without him. She would move on and be happier and better off . . . with some knight in shining armour . . . some perfect guy who could do no wrong, and never be suspected of it.

He had done the right thing . . .

So why did it all seem so wrong?

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Monday morning dawned bleak and grey. Outside it was cold and windy. The grounds were white and the snow was deep. The Black Lake was frozen. The Whomping Willow was still, no leaves growing on its cold, bare branches.

Hermione stared out of the window, unmoving, unthinking.

It was hard to produce any thought without automatically thinking of him, so she tried not to think at all. And when it was too hard not to think about him, she made sure she had something to occupy herself with that would keep her mind, hands and eyes busy enough to distract her from anything related to him entirely.

She had to go to class today. She had pulled her sick week. That was her time alone. Now, she hadn't a choice unless she _wanted_ to fall behind. Not that it would be all that difficult to catch up, but she would rather not put it off and add to her stress.

It was six in the morning. He was still in his room. Or maybe he was gone? She didn't know. All she cared about was not having to see him . . . not having to hear or think about those words . . .

"_You'll be much better off."_

It wasn't hard to read what that meant.

She walked passed the kitchen, scooped up her bag and left. She wasn't hungry.

So, she headed down into the Great Hall. She wouldn't eat. But the library wasn't open yet and she would not risk lounging around in the common room any more than she would risk knocking on his door. The thought made her shudder.

How would she ever handle a face-to-face run-in with him? It was bound to happen, if not sooner, than definitely later. She felt scared by the thought of it. She would probably crumble into a sad ball and cry, wither away.

How could it have been merely days ago that she had been so in love . . . and so happy . . . never fearing an end that was to come so quickly . . . How ridiculous she had been! Putting all of her trust in her heart, and handing it over without any fight. She was supposed to be so much stronger, and yet, here she was – dying.

It was a harsh word, but the pain she felt was so immense she could think of no other. It hurt to breathe, to think – well, about him or anything that made her think of him – and it hurt to cry, because she was crying over the ending of everything she had thought that she had. She thought that she had it all, which was the problem, because now that she knew she didn't – she was left empty-handed. She never should have made _him_ her everything . . .because now that he was gone . . . she truly had nothing . . .

Hermione pulled out some books that she had been studying for her homework and began to recheck her essay. It was pointless, of course, but it kept her busy. Busy. Thinking. And not about him.

That was her plan . . . to forget about him completely . . . to not think about the way his kisses made her feel, to not remember the bliss she had felt every time they had touched, to not feel the pain that now racked her body and left her trembling. It was the best she could come up with, because he had been the one to end it, the one to make it so final, with his harsh, cold words. He hadn't really even tried to deny his involvement, had he? He had just given up.

How much could she have meant to him, really, if he could give it all up that quickly?

She felt so used – so pointless. Because, really, what _was_ the point in trying to remember the way she felt or the way she loved him . . . when it was all just really a stupid lie? What was the point in trying to fool herself so she might be able to feel that happiness for a second? – that is, before the pain came crashing down on her. It was a complicated situation for Hermione at the moment, it was hard to stay so sane and together when she was going crazy and falling apart on the inside.

Suddenly there was a tapping on her shoulder and she felt scared to turn around; her first instinct, of course, scared her into believing it would be _him_.

But it wasn't.

She turned to find a familiar, handsome face with big green eyes and some dark stubble along his lower cheeks and chin. His dark hair was as messy as ever. His shoulders just as broad, his chest just as prominent, his smile just as warm and friendly. All of this, was dulled, however by the pain that just would not cease inside her.

"Er, hello," she said politely, warmly. She knew that on usual circumstances she would be happy to see him, so she tried to smile. She was unsure, however, how to address him because of their recent misunderstandings.

"Hermione," he said, and she was no longer unsure, "how are you feeling?"

"Better," she answered, and it was truthful enough. She felt better than she had last Monday, better than she had last night . . .

"I've missed you," he said. He still stood, and Hermione finally realized and moved over. She motioned for him to sit down. "Thank you. So how was your Christmas break?"

It seemed like forever ago. It made her chest ache a little to breathe in before she answered. "It was . . . uneventful, really. How was yours?"

He regarded her carefully, seeming to catch the sad look in her eyes before she blinked and it was gone. "It was good. It's always nice to visit family."

Hermione suddenly regretted not going home, and that made it hurt even worse. But she dug deep down for something else to say that would not make her think about it. "I really, really liked your gift."

His eyes lit up and he smiled brightly at her, flashing a beautiful set of white teeth. "Oh, wonderful. I know it's a little . . . well, I realized you don't usually wear things like that but–"

"Michael, it's great," she said, stopping him. He actually looked like he felt _bad_ for buying her some beautiful and probably expensive jewellery.

He looked so overwhelmed that Hermione wished she could feel real happiness or gratefulness towards him.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, furrowing his brow.

"Yeah," she murmured. She realized she had crossed her arm over her shoulder in an attempt to stop the aching, the tearing. She lowered her arm with warm cheeks.

"Well," he said, rising from his seat. "I'll see you in class."

"Okay," she said, smiling a weak smile. "See you soon, then."

He looked a little stiff as he walked away from her, leaving her alone with her thoughts once again. It was hard not to think of how nice it would have felt to see him again, under normal circumstances. Even though she could barely bring herself to smile at the moment, it was still a good feeling to see his face, and hear his voice. She wondered how he could have such an effect on her – to break through the barrier that had formulated around her now – and make her _want_ to feel again. She wondered if – now, this was if she could ever see the possibility – she could still have those confusing, yet strong, feelings for him . . . However, it was hard to even think about that – past or distant future, so she turned her mind elsewhere.

She dove into her essay and her useless editing until eight o'clock when all of the students began to poor in through the doors. Hermione wasn't surprised that Ginny was at her side soon enough.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" she said, and Hermione found that it was hard to answer. She just didn't want to talk. It made her feel so weak. She knew she _could not_ be tired, she had done nothing but sleep all week. But, somehow, all her energy had evaporated. She suddenly felt like it must have been a dream talking to Michael, because that had momentarily felt like everything was kind of okay, and this felt like a chore, like she'd rather crawl beneath the table and sleep than talk. But Ginny had been by everyday last week to talk to her and try and keep her sane, not succeeding well, but still. She didn't deserve a shrug.

"Fine," Hermione said, as loud as she could manage. It seemed like an echo, a hollow sound in a big room. Ginny contracted her eyebrows.

"Hermione, have you eaten today? You seem like you need it," Ginny commented unnecessarily.

"Yeah," Hermione answered absent-mindedly. The bell rang a few seconds later.

"See you Hermione," Ginny called. Hermione managed a meek wave as she headed off to potions.

It was amazing how much her perspective had changed from the beginning of the year. In September, it was a little annoying having him in all of her classes but it never really _bothered _her, and it definitely never made her fidget or nervous or affect her emotions in any way. By Christmas she was appreciating the fact that they were around each other so often, she liked it. And now, it made her dread her favourite classes.

Who knew anything could make Hermione dread class and learning?

Muggle Studies was right before lunch. It was the class she was dreading the most. Not because of Michael, of course, but because it was the only class where she was required to sit right next to him. She would not be able to handle that. She was taking the cowards way out.

She practically ran to class and up to Michael's desk before anyone else had entered the room.

"Could I ask you a favour?" she said, breathless.

He looked up, smiled and nodded, "Sure. What is it?"

"Could you possibly move me?" she asked.

He looked a little confused. "I'm sorry?"

"Away from .. . my seat, I mean," she said again. "Anywhere. In the back. Beside Pansy. Anywhere."

He looked first shocked, and then happy. "Time for a seating change."

Hermione sighed in relief.

As soon as the class filed into the room – and at this point Hermione was standing near Michael's desk and avoiding any eyes – Michael told them to stay standing for a seating change. It would have been too obvious to just move Hermione, so she could see the point of the hassle. He made a lot of pointless, useless changes, stuck _him_ in the very back next to another Slytherin boy and kept Hermione up front next to a Ravenclaw boy named Callum Rosten. She wasn't entirely surprised, but she was pleased. She liked her seat at the front. It was closer to Michael.

Once the class had begun, Michael began to teach them about World War Two in Germany and what weapons were like for muggles, what tactics they used and how they survived in battle for several weeks. Hermione, of course, knew all about this already because her father had told her about it. Her great grandfather had fought in WWII. The rest of the class, however, seemed amazed. They were in awe and the entire period was quiet because a lot of students were awkward beside their new partners.

The class ended as Michael assigned a project to each pair. They were to research a battle that occurred during WWII and explain as much as they could. Beside Hermione, Rosten looked thrilled. It was no surprise. Most people Hermione was partnered up with never complained.

As the class filed out, Rosten said, "So when should we start?"

Hermione was honestly wondering how this would work out well. At the moment, she didn't feel like being alone with someone for any amount of time. That would have to include conversational skills that she was greatly lacking at the moment. However, she realized it wasn't fair to this boy so she thought about it for a moment and replied, "It's not due until next week. We can start tomorrow after classes. I don't have any Head's duties then."

He nodded and rushed out of the door with the rest of the class, leaving Hermione with a new fear to face soon – Head's duties. Hermione looked around. The room was empty. She didn't really feel like going into the Great Hall for lunch today. Ginny would be there with her questions and looks of concern. Harry and Ron would say Merlin knows what when Ginny started talking. She didn't have the energy to deal with that.

She approached Michael.

"Great class," she commented. She tried to sound enthusiastic, or make her voice light, but the attempt died in her throat.

"Thank you," he said, inclining his head. "Feeling better?"

"Getting there," she said untruthfully. "Well enough for class though."

"That's good," he said. "Heading to lunch?"

"Er," she hesitated. "I suppose."

She really did not feel like facing any of her friends at the moment, or chancing a run-in with _him_.

"Unless you would like to stay and have lunch with me?" he asked a moment later. He didn't look at her, he kept his eyes down on his desk.

Nodding, she said, "Sure."

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

The Gryffindor Common Room was quiet on Monday evening. Students were still getting back into the habit of homework. Ginny, Harry and Ron sat in their usual spot by the fire, away from the rest of the students, writing and studying. It was sometimes weird to think that they had always chosen this spot so that they could either discuss things about the Order without eavesdroppers, or talk to Sirius or talk about anything else that no regular student should know about. Now, they used it for studying.

Ginny looked up from her work, pushed it aside and said, "I'm done for tonight. I can finish the rest tomorrow."

"Good for you," Ron scolded. "This is due tomorrow and I am barely half done."

Harry looked up and smiled weakly. "I'm all done, until we get more tomorrow."

Ginny looked at Harry as Ron's head was still bent over his essay. "So, Hermione didn't seem much better today."

Harry looked away. "Yeah, I know."

"Wonder how long it will take," Ginny said, giving him a significant look. Harry shrugged.

"I dunno," he answered. "Shouldn't be too long, though. It wasn't . . . er, it wasn't that bad . . . was it?"

Ginny sighed. "It was very bad."

Ron looked up. "What did she have anyway?"

"A fever," Harry said.

"The flu," Ginny replied at the same time.

Ron looked at them. "Okay. What's going on? Was she even _sick_? I thought it was just stress from what happened?"

Harry looked flustered, Ginny looked torn.

"Yeah," they both answered and looked at each other. Harry said it with more venom then was required.

"Er, she was sick," Harry offered. "From the stress."

Ron looked unconvinced, but his essay seemed to distract him and Harry was grateful.

"Not _that_ sick," Ginny scolded him.

"Sick enough," he mumbled.

"I think you two are sick," Ron commented. He looked back down to his parchment and began to write again.

Ginny leaned towards Harry and whispered, "How could you not have told us?"

It sounded a lot like she was mad that he hadn't told _her_, not that she didn't have every right to be upset about that.

Harry whispered back, "I wasn't even supposed to know! And after what happened, she didn't want even Dumbledore or McGonnagal to know, so why would I go around telling people if that would make her more upset?"

Ginny regarded him for a moment. "Fine. But you know this might take a while . . . he seems to have taken something from her . . . she feels so bad all the time . . ."

Ginny sat back and sighed. Harry looked away. He had done the right thing, he had protected her from him, he would not feel guilty about this any more . . . Just because he had punched Blaise did not mean he was any different from when he used to torture Hermione. Just because Harry hadn't anticipated any of his stupid recent behaviour did not mean that he had changed.

"Harry," Ginny said, snapping her fingers in front of him. "I said, do you want to go to Hogsmade next month?"

Realizing what she had said and what it meant, Harry was thrilled that she would ask him, even though she was slightly irked with him at the moment, and nodded quickly. "Yeah."

"Good," she said simply. "Good night, I'm tired."

"Night," waved Ron and Harry.

"Ron," Harry said, as soon as Ginny was up the stairs and behind the door.

"Yeah?" Ron looked up from his narrowly finished work.

"When we go to Hogsmade," Harry said, "Don't try following us with Lavender, okay?"

"What?" Ron said. "Why can't we all go together?"

"Not a chance," Harry said, shaking his head. "It's one thing spending the day with Lavender, but it's an entirely different thing when it means that I have to do it too, when I could just as easily not be."

"You just want to be alone with Ginny," Ron said smugly, as if he had cracked some great code.

"What gave me away?" Harry said sarcastically. "I'm going to bed, too. Good luck with that."

"Yeah, yeah," Ron grumbled.

As Harry climbed the stairs, he hoped that Hermione would feel better soon. He hoped she would start looking a little more alive, and a lot less depressed. She looked so tired, her eyes had been so red . . . if she wasn't feeling better soon . . . if she didn't realize that she was much better off soon . . . if she didn't come around soon . . . He didn't know what he would do if she didn't . . .


	29. Of a Pursuit

Chapter twenty-nine – Of a Pursuit

_**FEBRUARY**_

"Hermione, are you ever going to tell me what's wrong?" Michael demanded. For the first time since they had met, he was using a sharp tone with her. It brought her out of her reverie quickly enough to lie. She was beginning to get used to tuning people out, and though he was the one exception, sometimes she still got lost in her own thoughts.

"No," she said automatically. Realizing her blight, she added, "There's nothing to tell. I'm fine."

Alright, so it wasn't a _convincing_ lie. She looked away from him.

Once again, they were sitting in his office. January had passed slowly, Hermione was actually amazed that time was actually passing. It was so difficult to watch it go by while she sat and did nothing about the pain. Even though each second ticking could feel like blood pulsating underneath a tender wound, burning, aching . . . it passed. Even for her, it seemed.

"You've been sitting there staring at your tea for five minutes," he countered sharply.

"I was listening," she said. "Intently."

"I wasn't talking," he countered. She blushed, angry with herself.

They sat in silence for a moment.

"I should go," she muttered, standing and searching the floor for her back pack. He took a hold of her wrist.

"No, please sit," he said, his voice softer now. They weren't sitting at his desk like usual. She was sitting on the couch that he head put there after the break, apparently, and he was in the armchair next to it. The table in-between the two held their tea. It was almost like a ritual now – she came, they sat and had tea, she talked, he listened, he gave advice, she listened . . . but not lately, however. She mostly sat, silent. He was the only person she could simply sit with and not have to listen to questions upon questions or endure pitiful stares. Until now, that is. He was getting fed up with her. She didn't blame him.

"I'm not being a very good guest," she said quietly. She sat anyway.

"It's alright to be upset about whatever you're upset about, Hermione," he assured her earnestly. She wondered if he was say the same thing if he knew all the details . . . "But you've just looked so down for so long, almost six weeks now. I just thought, that _eventually_ you would _tell_ me what's wrong . . . I can't pretend not to see it much longer, you know."

She sighed, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.

"You're not really going to believe me, probably," she said, again, quietly.

"Try me," he persisted.

She thought about it for a moment. He had helped her stay more sane than she thought she would be able to for this past little while . . . or _six entire weeks_, now that he pointed it out. He deserved a little explanation.

"It's . . . _him_," she said, her voice hollow, her expression blank. "Well, it was, at least . . ."

"You mean Mister Mal–?"

"No, please," she interrupted. "Don't say his name."

"Oh, sorry," he said quickly. He paused, waiting for her to continue. When she didn't, he ventured further. "What about him?"

"We . . ." she began, biting her lip. Would he understand? Would he be angry with her? "We were kind of together."

He was quiet for a moment. "Yes, I was aware."

"You were?" she blurted.

He nodded. "It wasn't hard to miss. So what happened . . .?" he pressed.

Hermione shook her head at him in disbelief. He had known, and yet he had said nothing? "Well, obviously we're not anymore."

"Right," he said. She sighed again.

"He told me he loved me," she whispered. She thought she heard his teeth clench. "But he didn't. He used me and he and Blaise . . . well, it ended quite badly."

It was silent a little longer before he spoke. "What did he do?"

Hermione was ashamed to admit it, because it sounded so absurd, but she did not really believe that he _had_ actually done anything to her. She'd rather not explain anything to anyone. It would take too long.

"He just," she said stiffly. "He betrayed my trust, that's all. My guard was down."

"So you're this upset about . . . about not being with him?" he said. His voice was uneven, breaking.

"No," she said after a minute. It was a lie, but he didn't need to know that. "It's just the way he did it. The way it happened and . . . unravelled. It's humiliating. He used me and left me. It hurts . . ."

She was trembling and she had to fight it. Unconsciously, she crossed her arm over her shoulder and the other wrapped around her stomach. She leant forward.

He was by her side in an instant, his arm lightly around her shoulders. She sat up a moment later, embarrassed that she could barely hold herself together.

"It's getting better," she lied. In reality, it wasn't getting better at all. However, it wasn't getting worse either. She wouldn't let it slip too far in either direction. It couldn't get any worse because she didn't allow herself to think about him at all, say his name, want to see him . . . but it wasn't getting better, and that part, she couldn't explain. It was unfathomable, so off-balance for her.

"It doesn't seem like it," Michael said honestly.

"Well," Hermione said. "You're helping."

It was quiet. Hermione turned into his chest and hugged him tightly. After a moment, he hugged her back. They just sat for a moment.

Hermione had been thinking about this for a while – the way he was with her. She could feel something there, she could sense his feelings, see it in his eyes. But it was hard to concentrate on much else besides the pain, the numbness. It was so hard, she could _feel_, but all she could feel was . . . nothing. It should upset her that she was not an ounce of who she was before – so strong, so independent . . . not this weak, trembling . . . mess. It _should_ upset her, but there was nothing left in her to upset.

Still, it was hard _not_ to notice when she was sitting here in his arms. It was obvious that he was attractive. It was obvious he cared about her and it was obvious that he was smart enough to know her and to keep things slow and steady and simple. At least _he_ could read her.

But still . . .

How long could she wait for the pain to stop? Maybe she had to _make_ it stop. Maybe she had to find some way to let go . . . help herself feel a little more human, a little less lifeless . . .

If she just turned her head, tilted it upwards . . .

It would only take a few seconds. He was smart, he would get it.

"Remember the night of the ball?" she said quietly. She could feel him stiffen, and then nod. "Remember what you told me that night, near the stage?"

Again, he stayed stiff. He nodded.

"Why did you apologize for that? – in your letter, I mean," she said. She was trying to be discreet and blunt at the same time. She hoped he couldn't feel her heart pounding.

"Well," he began uneasily. "I thought I had upset you."

Somehow, Hermione gained the courage to move closer to him. He was leaning against the arm of the couch, in the corner, and she was leaning on his side while his arm rested around her. She had pulled her feet up off the floor.

"Why would you think that?"

Her voice could not go any louder without breaking. Her breathing was uneven now.

"Because, well, it's not my place . . . it's . . . I shouldn't have," he spluttered. "You know why."

"I guess," Hermione agreed, a little dazed. She couldn't believe he had stuttered. That was a definite first. "But you didn't upset me so you can take back your apology."

"Oh?" he said. "You practically ran away from me, you know."

"You surprised me," she said honestly in her defence. "And remember when I talked to you in the library that one time? – before the ball? Tell me it's not overwhelming."

He laughed. "Okay . . ." he agreed.

They sat for a minute. He sighed. With the hand that was resting on her shoulder he began to play with her hair. It was odd, talking about all of this between them so freely. At least _those_ walls were finally coming down. Hermione didn't have to feel so encased, so trapped . . . well, not _as_ trapped.

"So," he said. "I don't understand, I'll admit. This is not our usual style of discussion. I'm sure you're fully aware of that, though."

Hermione blushed at his bluntness. At least he could be honest. She shrugged. She was getting frustrated with herself. One second she wanted him and was willing to be stupid and just go with instinct, and the next second she was unsure.

"It's getting late," he informed her, looking at his watch.

"Right, I should go," she said quickly. She was nervous now, she was getting a little too close to danger now. Not that she didn't like the feeling . . . but she had too much common sense, and she thought way too much to just live on a whim. Someone used to make her want to do that, but then again, that someone had always helped her along, always seeming to be jumping first . . .

Hermione lifted herself from the couch in a frenzy, but as preoccupied with her thoughts as she was, she slipped on the flap of the carpet and fell back onto the couch. Michael, as his arm had been wrapped around her, fell with her. It happened in an instant.

It only took a second to realize how close their faces were. Hermione couldn't decide to move or not, if she wanted to or not . . . Michael's chest heaved.

Another second later, his face moved closer and she could feel his unshaven cheek touch hers; it gave her goosebumps. His lips were near her mouth, not on it, but they were close . . . She couldn't move. She could feel his breath against her face and it was warm, and she liked the feeling . . .

He turned his head just slightly, and his lips brushed hers. It wasn't a kiss, because he didn't _kiss_ her . . . yet. But then he did. His lips softly came down on hers and her heart couldn't have been going crazier. She could feel it in her stomach, the tingling in her spine, her toes . . . It was a feeling she had not felt in a while.

Since _he_ had kissed her.

Hermione ripped herself away from Michael, stumbled onto the floor and snatched her bag from the ground.

"I'm sorry," she panted. "I shouldn't have . . . my fault . . . . I can't. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he blurted, standing. "It's not your fault."

"I have to go," she said, darting towards the door. And she was gone a moment later.

Michael fell back onto the couch and ran his fingers through his already-messy hair. He wouldn't say it out loud, but as wrong a decision that might have been, he wouldn't take it back if he had the chance.

Oh no. What was he doing?

He was going off-plan.

Well, she had brought it up. Right?

Right.

He groaned. He knew better than this. But still, he couldn't fight the feeling he had. She seemed so broken. All he wanted was to make her feel better. What had that idiot done to her to make her fall apart so much?

He sighed. He would just have to let things happen the way they happened.

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

He stood before the gargoyle. It was unfamiliar being here. He had never sought the Headmaster out before. He had only been in that office a couple of times. One of them being last month. He shuddered.

He recited the password that he had gone through a lot to apprehend and remember. The gargoyle jumped out of the way and he walked up the stairway slowly. His footsteps echoed around him. He knocked on the door.

"Come in," a voice said almost immediately, as if he had known he was coming. Draco didn't doubt it. This old man seemed to know everything. "Hello, Draco."

"Hello, sir," Draco said awkwardly. His eyes were so kind. "I was just–"

"Please, sit," Dumbledore offered, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk.

"Oh, thank you," he said stiffly, moving unevenly toward the seat.

"Not a problem," Dumbledore replied with a kindly smile. "So, what is it that you would like to speak to me about tonight?"

Draco cleared his throat. "Er, I was just wondering, sir . . . it's been over a month since . . . I was here last . . . and I was just wondering . . . about my punishment?"

"Punishment?" Dumbledore said, incredulous. "Have you done something wrong?"

Draco was silent. He must know everything. "Well, I mean, with what happened and everything . . . with Blaise . . . I think, I thought I was to be punished?"

Dumbledore smiled knowingly. "I see. And what kind of _punishment_ did you think I was going to give you?"

Draco looked away.

"Did you think I would _expel_ you dear boy?" he said humorously. He shook his head.

"Yes, sir," Draco said.

"Draco, I have not any intentions of expelling you, or anything of the sort, so you can stop wishing that I will send you home," Dumbledore explained sternly.

"But I . . . I should have some sort of punishment, right? I'm willing to take the expulsion," he quipped.

Dumbledore chuckled and regarded Draco with his wise, blue eyes. "I do not doubt it. Mr. Zabini was willing to take it as well, and trust me, _he_ was on that list. His parents, however, were not so agreeing."

"So he gets nothing?" Draco snapped. It was an automatic reaction. "Sorry."

"Oh, no worries," he said with a wave of his hand. "No, he's receiving detention until the end of the year, and will not be permitted to attend the graduation ceremony."

"Oh," Draco mumbled. "And what do I get?"

"You speak of it like it's a prize," Dumbledore said, amused. "Like I said, I have no intention of punishing you. When you do not deserve it."

Draco gaped at him a moment.

"I know you are trying to fix things the best you can at the moment," Dumbledore went on. "But you should let the pieces lay where they have landed, for the time being anyway."

"I want to leave," Draco announced. "Can't I just leave and go home?" he pleaded with imploring eyes.

Dumbledore looked serious. "I would not be in favour of it. And also, you would have to be taught at home, or attend a different school. Seven years are required, Draco. In your last few months of schooling, I do not think it would be wise."

"Would you allow me to leave?" Draco asked apprehensively, desperately. His plan was not going well.

"No," Dumbledore answered pleasantly. "I would not."

Draco thought for a moment. He did not want to be here for this weekend, at least. Valentines Day was not a day for him to be near Hermione. It would drive him crazy, maybe even to irrational actions. The last thing he needed to do was something stupid.

"Would I be able to just go home for the weekend, then? Just two days? Please, sir?" he begged. He felt pathetic, but he could no longer be as cold as stone and demand everything he wanted without emotion. That part of him, the icy part, had melted away a long time ago. A burning passion, a flame of love had done that to him . . . for him. He missed the heat.

Dumbledore sighed. It was clear that his mind was not going to change, and Dumbledore preferred to let him leave than have him leave without permission. _That_ he would deserve punishment for.

"You can leave Friday morning. I expect you back here Monday morning and in class," Dumbledore said. He smiled. "And you _are _going to return."

"Of course," Draco promised. As gloomy as it was here for the past month, he would take it over his parents and that cold manor any day. However, he would go anywhere to avoid this weekend. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome," Dumbledore said, inclining his head. "You may go now."

"Thank you," Draco said again. He got up from his seat and left.

Two days and he could escape for 72 hours from this pain. It would be a new pain at home, but not half as bad. He could deal with his father if it meant not having to keep himself away from her when she was so close, the very next room . . .

As he left, he wondered how many days exactly it was until graduation. He wondered if he, too, did not have to attend . . .

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O00O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Classes the next day were, as they always were for her lately, dull and boring. She was even faster at doing her work than usual. She always had a book to pull out, though. It was about murderers and betrayal. She kept her eyes far away from romance and fluff these days. They just didn't hold any appeal any more. The only love she had ever really been interested in was no longer there. It was dead. And so was her hope.

But today, as she made her way to Muggle Studies, she shook uncontrollably. She was afraid to see him again. It had been a mistake to think she was ready to try and forget completely – she would never be able to forget him, or the pain. However much she did feel attracted to him at times, or thought that she would risk it, it just felt so impossible when the moment had risen, when the edge was waiting. She just couldn't jump.

She went to her seat at the front, and sat down, still shaking. There was a note on the board – which was unusual but not a first. She got out her quill and parchment to write it down, but found that her hands were shaking too much to write. She set down the quill and her head fell into her hands. What was she doing? Who was she anymore? She could barely recognize the things she was doing – both to others and to herself.

A _teacher_. _Kissing_ a teacher?

Well, he had actually kissed her, but she hadn't exactly stopped it.

When she thought that she was capable of writing again, she lifted her head and tried again. Her writing was a little messy, but it would do. Michael spoke then.

"Alright," he said, his face bright, his voice warm, his eyes happy. She blushed and stared at her desk. He began to speak about Muggle science and their theory about religion and evolution and how they clashed. Hermione stared at her desk through the entire class, and when the bell rang, she left as quickly as possible.

She would face him when she was ready . . . when she had decided what she wanted.

So, with nowhere to go and all of her homework done, she headed to the Great Hall for lunch that day. Ginny was overwhelmed that she was there. Had she really been having lunch with Michael _that_ often? She hadn't really realized.

"So how did you do on your Transfiguration test?" Ron asked her, chewing through his sandwich.

"Fine," Hermione said.

"I did terrible," Harry commented, stabbing at his pasta.

"Is it really all that much harder in seventh year?" Ginny inquired, looking worried.

And the conversation continued on like that through lunch. Hermione didn't say anything, and only offered one-word answers when she was asked a question. They seemed to be trying to ignore it instead of feeding it with attention. Hermione couldn't really bring herself to care, which worried her. If she couldn't care about Ginny or Ron or Harry . . . what _could_ she care about? Exactly how broken was she, if she couldn't care about her best friends of six years?

This was ridiculous.

She had to start trying harder, even though it might hurt, and even though she might not feel like it . . . they deserved it. They loved her and even though she couldn't feel it at the moment, she loved them back. A lot.

"So, Hogsmade is this weekend," Hermione suddenly said. They looked at her. Oh no. She hadn't really been following the conversation, had that been too random?

"Er, yeah," said Ginny enthusiastically. "You're going, right?"

"Yes," Hermione decided. She wasn't going to go, but if she was going to try and find herself again, this is where she would start. She really enjoyed Hogsmade usually.

"With who?" Ron asked her. And then she realized, they all had relationships. Harry was with Ginny, and apparently Ron was still with Lavender. It was nice, but now it left them in a more awkward position than she was in. She didn't want them to rearrange their day according to her – just because she was half a zombie lately didn't mean she deserved that much from them. She had barely been a friend to them.

"Well, er, I just need to get a lot of supplies for class, so I thought I would go alone," Hermione said. "I will be just running from one book store to the next so, there's no point in dragging someone with me."

They knew that she could get really absorbed in books, so the lie wasn't obvious at all, which she was glad for. But now, she was stuck going to Hogsmade alone on Valentine's day and she wasn't sure how she would make it though unscathed.

It wasn't the hearts or the people or the meaning of the day, because most of that was superficial anyway. It was the fact that she would be alone, again. It was hard for her to be alone now, alone with her thoughts. She felt a lot more depressed when she had nothing to do but think. And even then, she barely allowed herself to that much, unless she had something like schoolwork to think about, because her mind was an endless betrayal, a ceaseless attack on her mind, on her heart; it always instinctively went to _him_, with his grey eyes and white-blonde hair, his muscular chest and soft, perfect lips . . .

Hermione shuddered. Not thinking about him was one of the things that had helped her get this far without breaking completely in two, it was the one thing that kept her heart beating. So she was always busy, always working, always reading, writing . . . _anything_. She didn't let herself find any time to just sit and think.

She had tried to be very good, she would give herself that much credit. She had concentrated even more of her energy into her schoolwork and her Head's Duties. She hadn't missed one day, one class since that first week – of which the mention was strictly off-limits. She wouldn't even let herself say his name, and she wouldn't let herself hear it if that could be prevented.

In any case, she didn't want to cause more problems for herself by providing the time she needed to think about him. It would only take just as long for her to fall apart entirely. And as much as she might have not minded due to the non-feeling in her chest, she didn't want to upset or hurt her friends, or her parents, worry the teachers, create problems for anyone. She had been enough of a weight to carry lately.

And now, not only did she have to concentrate on keeping her mind far away from _him_, she had to try and find a way to fix whatever she might have damaged between herself and Michael the night before.

She couldn't help but to remember, though, the softness of his lips, the eagerness of his touch, the warmness of his body, and the gentleness of his hands, his words, his eyes. He was much too good to be true. Like a guardian angel exactly when she cried for help, like the sun when she was drowning. Like hope when she had given up, which she had, in a way.

So as much as she would've liked to just stick all of this in a box in the farthest corner of her mind, she knew she had to clean up her own mess this time.

**okay so, whether you like it or not, Hermione and Michael kissed. Sorry to those who were expecting Draco and Hermoine to get back together. I hope you liked it, and please, please, please! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!**


	30. Of Confrontation and Anger

**okay, so i just want to address a few reviews here . . . I just wanted to let anyone who was annoyed with me, that I made Hermione out of character on the last couple of chapter on purpose. i wanted her to break down. i wanted the impact of her relationship with Draco to be that significant. and second i dont mean to be predictable, so im sorry for those who don't like where the story is going . .. but this is how i decided it woudl be right from the very first chapter, so it's not a very sharp turn. ummm i think thats it. sorry for not updating in a while, school and tests and work. ugh. but there's more coming, this will be finished! don't worry. anyway .. review, review, review! i love them :)**

Chapter Thirty – Of Confrontation and Anger

Draco sighed, staring at her door while he stood before the bathroom mirror. It would take so little, nothing at all in fact, to just take two steps and knock. She would know it would be him, so it would be very obvious that she was willing to see him and speak to him if she opened the door. And if she opened the door, he wouldn't give her time to speak, he knew that, and that was the sad truth. She would open that door, and he would silence her questions with his lips.

He could see it in his head and made him mad, not only at himself, but just mad in general at the way things had happened. This was definitely not the course he had put himself on. It had to be fate or something that made this happen.

"_The course of true love never did run smooth."_

Thinking in Shakespeare quotes. Okay, he had finally snapped completely. It was good he was getting a break – even if it was a small one. Three entire days without having to stop himself from talking to her, looking at her, kissing her . . . Temptation was everywhere here.

He walked back into his room (though, he did look back) and grabbed his bag.He sighed. Something made him think that he was going to miss this place, even though he would be back on Sunday night – a promise only kept because of the person it had been made to.

But he really felt an honest liking for this place now, when that had certainly never been the case before. It was because of her, and he could not deny that. She made him like this place when it had been merely a school to him. She had made him realize what a great old wizard Dumbledore was. She had made him feel gratitude and sympathy and genuine humour, and not just that at the expense of others.

He could spend no more time thinking about her – he could get lost in those thoughts forever, and he knew that. So, he continued on his way out and forced himself not to look back as he shut the portrait door behind him. The halls were empty. It was early. This was how he wanted it to be. He needn't questioning eyes, especially hers.

The carriage ride was boring. He sat and stared out onto the still snow-covered ground with mild interest at what he was looking at. It was so ridiculous that nothing could make him smile the way he longed anymore. Nothing could make him nervous.

By the time he got onto the train he felt like he had made a terrible mistake by leaving. But, he knew that if he went back, he would want to leave again so he stayed seated and watched as the scenery, and Hogwarts, slowly began to slide out of view.

The speed increased gradually. He was glad he wouldn't get there too quickly. It was like purgatory here. Not so bad, but definitely not pleasant. He might've preferred a weekend spent here on the train. That way, he wouldn't have to deal with all that temptation near Hermione and he wouldn't have to see his parents, either. He could have his cake and eat it, too.

But, sadly, he knew that wasn't doable. They would surely kick him off the train, no matter how much money he offered them.

As he leant his hot forehead against the cool glass of the window and watched the slushy ground slide by beneath him, he closed his eyes and let himself think of all the things he wouldn't let himself think about while he was close enough to her to actually _get_ to her.

There was that first kiss; a completely and total mishap, at the time, a huge 'mistake' and a 'horrible, horrible accident'. It was the most exhilarating first kiss he had ever had. There was the night of the ball. Though they fought that night, that was the night he had decided that he was in love with her. After he had heard what the stupid, idiotic, annoying . . . teacher said to her . . . Honestly, confessing _feelings_ for a _student_? That was outrageous. It had been after the fact that he realized how angry and frustrated he had gotten that made him think about it. He had never gotten so jealous in life, especially over a girl _he_ was already with.

Then there was the entire Christmas break. They slept on the couch together every single night. It was the first time he enjoyed just being close and _sleeping_ with a girl, rather than the alternative.

And then there was the alternative, the night after she returned from the hospital wing. That was the night he wouldn't let himself think of the most. That was the night she had told him that she loved him. She had looked so scared, as if she was afraid he wouldn't love her back.

For a genius, she could be so obtuse.

But she was a genius. She was beautiful. She was genuine. She was generous and kind and cautious and loving and compassionate . . . how could it be that one person could be gorgeous and brilliant? It was so unfair. It was like the Gods were just were just waiting for some poor fool to come along and think that he could have it all.

He could see her the night of the ball, in that long, flowing dress. So elegant. That night always reminded him of the night of their first kiss, because of the dancing. It was funny how it all seem to be connected though. The dance lesson lead to the Christmas Ball, which lead into the Christmas break . . . it was a circle of about two months that he would never forget.

Suddenly his head tapped against the window and he opened his eyes. He hadn't even realized that he had closed them.

Had he been sleeping for five hours? It felt like 20 minutes. Oh well, the dream made it worth it.

Draco got off the train alone with his one bag and headed into the station. He casually walked through the barrier and strode into the large crowds of muggles that were doing their daily errands, heading off to work and so on. It was nearly 10:30 in the morning. Draco headed outside and onto the streets with is backpack over one shoulder. He looked around as he slid into a dark alley.

He turned, picturing a forbidding, hard, cold mansion in his mind and a second later he was standing inside the gates, on the path that would lead him right to the door and directly to hell.

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It had taken her about five seconds to realize he wasn't there during their first class of the day. It was like she could _feel_ him missing. Ridiculous, really, but her intuition was right; he was not there. Was he skipping classes today? Or just this one?

It was stupid how she cared so much about it when she wouldn't look at him or speak to him even if he was there. But still . . .

By the time she passed through potions and Ancient Runes _and_ Transfiguration, it was clear he was not going to be attending class. She walked into Muggle Studies without even glancing at his seat to check. This was the last class he would attend if he had decided to skip all but one.

As usual, she was the first there. It was just a habit now – and probably a bad one, considering what had happened during her last visit with Michael . . . But, she wasn't a baby, and she wasn't a fool. She had to face up to her problems, mistakes, complications. She was a Gryffindor girl through and through and she was brave. In truth, this didn't take all that much bravery but it did require some diplomacy and consideration. That would be too much for a lot of people.

He was writing on the board. She sighed. It was obvious he probably thought that she was mad or that she didn't want to speak with him. If he had one flaw, that would be it. His only weakness was assuming all the guilt.

She approached him. "Hey," she said. She repressed all the heat that waited to burn her cheeks.

He turned, not looking too shocked, but wary. "Good morning."

Hermione smiled and shook her head. She should be the one to feel awkward and stupid.

"How are you?" she asked, managing a smile. He smiled back.

"Good, good . . and yourself?" he asked, fidgeting with the chalk eraser in his hands. She noticed. He must be waiting for the accusations . . . the guilt trip. But none of that was coming, it was her fault, not his.

"Pretty good . . ." She paused. "Michael, I just wanted to ask you something . . . about the other night."

He froze, put down the eraser and looked up, shifting on his feet. Hermione didn't notice that the movement brought him just a little closer to her because she was too occupied with what she was trying to say.

"Yes?" he prompted, and she was glad he was apologizing.

"It's just that, I shouldn't have . . . well, we . . ." She stopped, taking in a deep breath. "This is hard to say."

"Of course," he nodded. "But, you don't have to say anything at all."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked blankly. He didn't want to acknowledge it? He wanted to ignore it . . .?

"It's not your fault, I mean it's–," he tried, but she interrupted him.

"Look, if you're blaming yourself or if you think I'm mad or something or if –,"

It was like she had no idea where she was for a moment. For a split second she thought she _must_ be dreaming, because there was no way this could be real . . . because he leaned forward a few inches and crushed her lips with his.

Astonished, she staggered back, trying to regain her balance and train of thought. He laughed his perfect laugh, baring his perfectly straight white teeth and waited for her to say something. But that wasn't going to happen, because her lungs weren't working properly and she was feeling extremely incoherent. She just stared at him, numbed by the shock, confused by his smile.

"I . . ." But that was all she could manage. She shook her head clear, but couldn't think of anything to say. But then suddenly the numbing wore off and she felt . . . aggravated, annoyed, frustrated. "What – what was _that_!?"

She held her hand to her mouth for a moment. His smile was still in place. Okay, so dream or nightmare . . . She debated quickly but knew she was definitely _not_ still sleeping. She remembered her morning too vividly.

"Don't be mad . . ." he tried to soothe her temper, but it only made her angrier.

"_Excuse_ me?" she scoffed. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Look," he sighed. "Sorry. I am, but I was sick of wondering what that would have been. I was about to say, 'It's not your fault, it's no one's fault' because I believe that's true. I mean, the . . . last time couldn't count – that was all accidents and it was definitely not even close to what I thought it would be, what it _could_ be. So I am extremely apologetic. It was just a harmless peck, but I am sorry. I just thought that, if it happened, I wanted to know what it would have been if I did it the way I thought I should have. I mean, if you're going to get wet, might as well go swimming right?"

He offered a crooked smile.

"I don't think I should care about that," she answered honestly, though it did flatter her slightly that he had put so much thought into it. It just seemed too out of character for him to suddenly be spontaneous and willing to take so many chances. They were in the middle of the classroom for Merlin's sake! If just one person peered around that corner and accidentally layed their eyes on them for one second . . . it could have been disastrous. "You can't just . . . I mean, we're friends. And you know all about . . . well, I mean . . ." She had to pause, because the burning in her cheeks were returning with a vengeance. "Look, we are both are aware of what . . . I mean, everything there between us . . . but Michael! What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that," he began, his voice back to normal. "You are a great friend, but you also know about . . . well, you already said it so I'm not going to repeat it. So, it just seems juvenile to go on pretending there's nothing there. When there is . . . but you know that there could be a lot more."

She stared at him, perplexed. "Michael . . ." she said. Her anger was subsiding, but he seemed to be under the deluded pretense that she could be unbroken that quickly, he seemed to think that she could be with someone . . . he seemed to think that maybe there was a chance to hold her heart. But did he not understand that she was not a full person anymore ? – nothing but an empty shell? That her heart was mangled and torn and bleeding . . . and barely there at all? That she was damaged goods? That she could _never_ ever love the way that . . . that she could have . . .

But people were coming now, and she couldn't go any further. That was probably a good thing, because she would need a little time to think about how she could say it so that he would understand. He definitely wouldn't feel the same after he knew the entire truth of it all.

The worst part of the whole hour-long class was not even the fact that she had a really uncomfortable conversation with Michael to look forward to, but it was the ridiculous, stupid idea that she could not stop thinking about how _he_ would have tried to kill Michael if they had still been . . . together . . if it hadn't all been fake . . . if it had been what she had thought it was . . .

When the bell rang, she bolted for her dorm, not sparing a sideways glance to Michael as she left. It was so confusing, knowing that she did like him in a lot of ways, and knowing that there was at least some physical attraction there . . . but also knowing that, if against all that she was and all that she knew, if they ever were together in anyway, she wouldn't and could not be entirely there . . . that her heart would never be whole while she was with anyone else.

She suddenly felt a powerful surge of anger course through her and it made her glower out her window. How could he do this to her? How could he swoop in and wreck her life and then kick her when she was down? How could he walk away while she was bleeding, _dying_? How could he be such a . . . stupid, sneering, evil _coward_? How could he leave her with half a heart and then ignore her like nothing had ever happened? How could he take half of herself away with him while he ran away like the stupid coward that he really was?

She liked that word, _coward_. It afforded her a sense of deep satisfaction when she got the anger out of her. Of course, Hermione was above throwing a tantrum, but at least now she could admit to herself that she was angry. She was hurt more than she was angry, but she still needn't hide it and ignore it. There was no point. He wasn't coming back for her, she would never hear her heart beat wholly again, she would never feel that same sense of anticipation, that same feeling of ridiculous nervousness, that high when she knew that he was about to kiss her . . .

That was all gone, so what was the point of trying to play up the 'I'm fine' act any longer? Who was she trying to please? Pretending she was okay just seemed to be hurting her friends and annoying Michael anyway, so she wasn't even fooling anyone at all. There was nothing for her to look back on and hold onto tight enough to save her from this livid feeling she felt running, pounding through her veins. It was far past the time for this anger to be let loose. It was far past the time where she should feel a little less restrained, a little less careful.

He thought he had made her take so many risks . . . well, he hasn't seen anything yet.

And she was right about another thing; he _was_ running away. He simply left. He wasn't here. She couldn't really imagine where he would have gone other than his big ugly mansion. She hated that it made her sick to miss him, it made her sick to wonder if he was returning.

So, he couldn't even do her the courtesy of telling her good bye? Not even one little word sliding through his serpent mouth? He couldn't grace her with is presence long enough to throw all of the horrible things he had managed to put her through in her face one last time? He was just going to run away and leave her to rot like some pathetic, sick, helpless little girl?

Well, she had news for him. If he was going to leave her, just walk away from her broken self just like that, she was going to do the same. She wasn't going to mourn over this traumatic loss any longer. There was no way she would survive until graduation if she was going to trap herself in this pain.

Besides, the anger felt a thousand times better than the pain. It felt like _power_. Power to break all the promises that had been made between them . . . the power to feel good again, and if not good, then just to _feel_. She would settle for that.

She knew deep down that this feeling of crazy frustration, this malicious temper would trap and tame itself sooner or later, but right now, while he was gone and she had no idea where he was or if she was even going to see him again, she didn't mind the anger. It made her feel human again. It may have been just a temper flaring, but it was a strong enough emotion to help her move, to help her think, to clear away everything that had been blocking her from thinking straight, all the stupid images that made the tears and doubts surface.

Hermione left for her afternoon classes, feeling healthy, feeling good inside, cleaned out, like she could actually breathe, actually taste the fresh cool air for the first time in weeks . . .

He wasn't going to know what hit him. Neither of them would.

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"Hello, Draco." Lucius Malfoy stood at the bottom of the winding staircase. The foyer was a wide, cold room with marble floors and white walls. A large arched door lead into the lush sitting room where there was more seats than there had ever been people in this house. It was a warmer-looking room, but it still held the frigid temperatures. The couches were deep reds and browns and the furniture were all dark oak.

"Father," Draco acknowledged, nodding his head. He slipped his bag off of his shoulder and let it fall to the ground. "You were expecting me?"

"Yes," he answered, approaching him slowly. Time had not made him a handsome man. His nose was just as pointed as ever, his face just as long, the wrinkles from years of dark magic and stress were prominent lines across his face and his hair was long and had that same white-blonde attribute that all Malfoy men seemed to inherit. "Dumbledore sent a message."

"I see," Draco answered. The conversations he had with his family were always formal, like they were distant relatives instead of father and son. Unless they argued, then _some_ emotion was bound to surface.

"So, what has prompted you to honour us with your presence, my son?" he asked. His tone was polite, his expression interested. "Anything of importance regarding Potter?"

His father was under the ridiculously false impression that Draco was his personal spy, ready to report to him whenever an opportunity to kill Harry Potter should arise. Draco may have hated Harry for years due to his father's impressions, but he wasn't about to pretend he was going to kill him or help his father do anything of the sort.

"Potter?" Draco mused, uninterested. His father's face tightened, his eyes hard. "No, not that I am aware of."

"Hmm." His father regarded him for a second, taking in his appearance for the first time. "Draco, you're a mess. What has happened to you?"

He wasn't a mess in the literal sense, but he definitely had circles under his eyes, he was definitely paler than usual and looking a little sallow, worn out. He didn't think it would be that noticeable.

"Nothing," he murmured, dragging his bag to the stairs.

"Draco, don't you dare walk away from me," he ordered in a booming voice. Draco sighed and turned around.

"What?" he snapped.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" his father demanded. His eyes were narrowed now.

"I already told you; nothing. I'm fine," Draco said sharply.

"I don't really give a damn how you are, but I would like to know why you aren't upholding your image, boy. Even if your rotting from the inside out, you don't show it, you fool, you don't show _anything_. Malfoy's don't slump around, looking morose and sodden. We are powerful men. We are in charge. We don't look _pitiful_ and _pathetic_," he spit the words out like poison.

Draco was greatly irritated by his father's accusations, mostly because they hit a lot of sore spots and nerves that he was trying to dull these days. His father had just said the exact things he was hoping not to hear . . . five minutes after he had arrived. It woke anger inside him, and it was strong because the nerves, his feelings, were so raw, so stripped, sensitive.

"Did you ever think that living like a piece of stone is, oh, I don't know . . . _not_ the key to eternal happiness?" Draco spat. Heavy sarcasm. His father would love that.

Lucious narrowed his eyes and brought himself to his full height. "Happiness?" He paused, sneering. "Happiness is . . . irrelevant."

"_Irrelevant_?" Draco echoed. He knew his father cared little about happiness, and whenever he did pay attention to it, it was only his own, and it was usually at the expense of someone else's pain. But, to state it like he had, like it did not matter if something could make you smile or laugh . . . it made him feel like his father must have been . . . really, truly empty.

"Indeed it is," his father replied, his tone disinterested. "Power and strength . . . leverage . . . wealth . . . They will all get you where you want to go in life. If where you end up, or the road that you take to get there . . . if that affords you a sense of some kind of genuine satisfaction, well then, good for you. But you will not waste what you have been given, graced with, privileged . . ." His voice was strained now, he was angry. "You will not waste all that I have given you."

"You've given me _nothing_," Draco hissed vehemently, and for a moment it caught Lucious off-guard. He quickly reassembled his carefully composed – empty was more like it – expression and stared down his son with hard, glassy eyes.

"Hmm." Lucious looked thoughtful for a moment. "You are right; only a home, money, schooling and opportunity . . . power and connections . . . knowledge of what others only dream of . . . Yes, nothing at all."

Draco rolled his eyes impatiently. "None of that matters, you old empty gargoyle."

The harshness of his voice and the cruelty of his words set of a spark then.

"Don't you speak to me like that, insolent!" he hollered, his eyes wide with venomous hatred.

"Deal," Draco spat, turning and heading up the staircase.

"INGRATE!" he shouted after him. Draco turned, smiled widely, snapped his hand up in salute and then turned again and apparated to his room. He could hear something smash to the ground in the foyer, probably where he had been standing a moment ago.

He sighed and fell back onto his bed, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Maybe he could hold up in his room for the weekend . . . there was no real need to set foot down there, and deal with that . . .

He sighed again, realizing that his mother would have a fit if she knew he was here and not eating dinner with his parents like a good little statue son. He wondered what it would be like to have parents that smiled and laughed and welcomed him home, awaited his visits with sincere anticipation, really missed him when he was gone, worried about him once in a while . . . loved him.

But, sadly, love was not something he was likely to feel again. He knew he could live with his decision, in the technical sense. Letting Hermione go was the logical choice. After all, time and time again, he had proved to be less than deserving of her attention, her heart. If she could find a way to be happy, than he could live with his decision.

Although . . .

He wondered if it could be living when he was mostly just empty now. He startled himself by realizing that he had just made the same conclusion about his father; emptiness, hollowness . . . Was that what made him a _Malfoy_? Being empty and barren, only showing emotion that was angry or evil? Or spiteful or crude or malicious?

Confused, he pinched the skin between his eyes and squeezed them shut, repressing the pounding. What was he to do with all of these thoughts! All this confusion!

He kicked off his shoes and pulled a pillow behind his head. He shouldn't have been tried; it didn't make sense what with his crashing on the train for five hours. But fighting with his father always took a lot out of him, and nowadays, he was always tired . . .

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The afternoon dragged and the classes were mostly note-taking so Hermione had a lot of time to think, and decide. Somehow, she felt like it was too easy . . . but she was going to follow through with her plan. It would be nice to feel a little reckless again, a little less trapped.

She made herself go to dinner, because she knew that Michael would be in the Great Hall. There was no use in going to his office when he wasn't going to be there. She sat down with her friends and found them engrossed in conversation about tomorrow's Hogsmade trip. She joined in as much as possible, still unsure if she would actually go alone to buy books or not . . . she would decide after tonight.

Dinner seemed to take forever, but that was probably just Hermione again. She was eager. It was the first time in a while that she actually felt that strong, hot bubbling in her gut; excitement, anticipation.

Hermione made herself wait longer though. The timing had to be perfect, so she went back to the Gryffindor common room with Ginny for a while to talk. Ginny seemed more interested in the idea than Hermione was, and she was the one who suggested it.

"So how . . . are you?" Ginny managed. Hermione sighed.

"I know I've been a little less than a best friends lately, but I'm okay now," Hermione lied with conviction, hoping that the lie would soon become the truth and she wouldn't have to be caught in it. But Ginny seemed to see right through her and raised her eyebrow skeptically.

"Okay, I'm not completely fine," Hermione admitted. "But I'm getting there; I'm trying."

Ginny looked away, into the fire. "Look, Hermione . . . I really wonder . . . I mean, if he could upset you so much . . . I mean, you were miserable for so long . . . I mean, how could it be a good thing that you two are apart?"

Hermione stared at her, her heart beating inside her chest; it felt like someone was scratching a raw cut, hitting a fresh bruise. "Ginny, he doesn't . . . I mean, you know . . ."

"Well," Ginny said, biting her lip. "I have to wonder. Have you _seen_ him lately? He looks as bad as you –sorry, but it's true– and maybe even worse. If the . . . being apart . . . isn't what is making him so . . . well, you know what I mean . . . than what could it be?"

Hermione didn't want to think about this right now; there was now point. She had made up her mind, she was going to be angry and release the pain that way, dwindle it down so that it was bearable. She wasn't about to hope that he still loved her, that maybe there was some shimmer of something left to hold onto.

Hermione shook her head. "Please, don't. I mean, what do you want me to do? _He_ left. _He_ said . . . I mean, for Merlin's sake, he admitted that he helped Blaise attack me!"

Ginny pursed her lips. "Hmm." She seemed deep in thought. "Have you noticed . . . I mean, that they don't speak anymore?"

Hermione ignored this, tuned it out; it was just something more she didn't want to think about. If Ginny was trying to convince her that he was innocent, then Ginny must have been insane. If she was trying to tell her that he was in the right, that he still loved her, that there was hope, that Hermione should be happy . . . well then, she was delusional! He left her to rot and die and cry and bleed . . . he told her that she was better off without him! What a ridiculous speculation to assume!

Hermione stood, not wanting to wait around for the pain to start again, just when she was repressing it the best, just when it was at its weakest.

"Look, I have to go– you have to stop . . . stop trying to come up with reasons to excuse him from what he did . . . it happened; it's over; I'm trying to move on, Ginny. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Hermione left, trying to concentrate on where she was going. It wasn't until she was around the corner from his office when she felt the weakness in her knees and the tingling in her stomach. Okay, she could do this, she had made the simple decision and she was going to follow through. She wasn't going to wait around while he just faded farther into the past. She was going to live.

She hadn't been able to jump before, she hadn't had the strength to do it. But he had pushed her over the edge, so now it was just a matter of the landing . . . and she could handle that much.

She knocked on his door three times and waited, still feeling wobbly. He answered, his brow furrowed.

"Oh, I'm glad it's you!" he sighed in relief. "I just wanted to say sorry again for before, I mean, I thought about it, I feel like an idiot . . . I mean, I hope you're not still angry, but I am still sorry. You're right; we're friends and well, after . . . last month, I mean, of course I get it. I just let the stupid idea that it would be okay to step out of line once get to me. Hermione?"

Hermione was smiling nervously, her eyes serene. She wasn't really concentrating on his words, but more, on not shaking.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Hermione nodded.

"I changed my mind," she said simply. He opened his mouth to ask her what she was talking about, but the words were muffled by her lips. He staggered back, a repetition of this afternoon but reversed, but she didn't pull back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight.

It only took a minute for him to respond, and respond enthusiastically. His arms wrapped around her back and he kissed her fiercely, not gently or slowly, but hard and passionately. Somehow he managed to swing the door shut behind them. They were fighting each other for more, it was intense, Hermione's skin burned where his touched hers. They were against the door, Michael leaning over Hermione. She gasped for air as he pulled away, but his lips merely trailed down her neck and back up to the hollow beneath her ear; she could hear his ragged breathing and she noticed the thumping of her heard was almost audible.

A rush was swimming through her and she entwined her fingers in his messy brown hair and pulled him closer to her, crushing her body into his. He responded immediately this time and slightly, slowly parted her lips with his.

She could feel his hot breath in her mouth and her heart began beating faster than before, jumping around madly, uncontrollably.

But he finally pulled away, with what seemed like a lot of difficulty and stared at her with his beautiful, wide green eyes in shock.

"What–? What are you doing?" he stuttered. Hermione smiled, but it was hard as she tried to inhale smoothly and slow the rhythm of her heart.

"What?" She tried to sound innocent and playful and upbeat, maybe alluring, but it was hard when her voice was raspy with efforts to breathe. He suddenly looked guilty.

"This is because of what I said," he concluded. "Look, this isn't about me! I can _wait_. There's time, Hermione, no need to try and feel better so I don't feel miserable. I brought that on myself, we both know that."

Hermione was shaking her head before he was finished speaking. "Michael, is it so hard to believe that I feel something along the same lines as you do? Maybe I don't _want_ to wait."

He stared at her for a minute, and then went to turn to his desk, probably to sit and breathe and think, but somewhere before that decision was made, he decided to ignore it. He looked at her again and took two big steps, wrapped his arms around her again and trapped her with his lips. She didn't protest.


	31. Of New Found Knowledge

Chapter thirty one – Of New Found Knowledge

Hermione awoke with a smile on her face the next morning. She stretched and turned over, gazing out of her window. Yesterday she had finally done it. She had finally dragged herself over that bridge. She had barely been able to carry herself at all before, and now she was jumping off ledges and crossing lines . . . and it felt good.

It felt good to break a little piece off of her that reminded her of him so much. He had always _supposedly_ liked her for exactly who she was, and now that she was changing, she felt like she could clean that memory away.

It was weird how she was now the one keeping things from being too awkward. After she and Michael had kissed a while, and sat and talked for a while longer, she could tell he was dreading the goodbye for more than one reason at least. But she kissed the tip of her index finger and touched it to his nose humourously before heading back to her dorm – way past curfew.

It had been an empty, grumbling in her stomach to return to the dorm when she knew he was gone and what she had done. It was like she was afraid. But, she had decided to follow through with this many times. She had to fix herself. She couldn't wait for him, because there was nothing to wait for. After all, he was the one who had said she was better off without him, right? So, she had to try and be better off.

Hermione showered and dressed, her legs still wobbly. It wasn't until after she had dressed when she realized the Hogsmade trip was today and she had twenty minutes to get down to the carriages. She scrunched her face at the thought of wandering through quiet bookstores all day long, watching couples lovingly kissing each other and holding hands and smiling . . . She shuddered.

So instead, she waited half an hour until all the carriages and students would surely be out of sight, and headed to his office. But there was no one there, so she decided to try his classroom. When she entered, he was balancing precariously on a chair, reaching up to a shelf. There were at least twenty stacks of books on the floor, and many of the desks were pushed away from walls and to the back of the class.

"What are you doing?" Hermione inquired with a smile.

He turned so fast that he lost his balance and fell with the books in his hands. Thankfully Hermione's years of practice dealing with surprises and given her good reflexes. She had her wand out and stopped him from hitting the ground with another playful smile. She let him down and he grinned sheepishly.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Hermione pretended to look shocked and hurt. "Oh, I'll leave then . . ."

She turned and went to walk toward the door. Her arm was clamped in his hand a second later.

"No, no! I just meant–," he began, but when she turned she simply hugged him and laughed. He rolled his eyes – something she had never seen him do before, she realized. "Oh, so now she's suddenly so funny."

"Yep." Hermione pulled away to look around the room. "So, I know I'm smart enough to realize that there's just something different here."

He laughed. "Good observation." He moved forward to put the chair upright and got onto it again. "I'm just trying to clean this place up a bit. All these books are so mixed up. I found a lesson plan from that famous Lockheart guy in here the other day. Did you have him as a teacher?"

Hermione sighed. "That's a long story I'll tell you another day." She walked forward to one of the stacks and regarded them carefully. "These are ordered by what? – author's last names I think? Where are you putting them?"

"I'm not making you help me clean," he scolded. Now it was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes.

"You're right, I might as well go chasing the carriages for Hogsmade that already left and spend the day buying book and quills and ink all alone."

"Hogsmade!" he said in realizing, hitting himself in the forehead. "You could've gone, you know. You _should_ have gone."

"Why?" Hermione said skeptically. "When I could be having so much more fun right here."

He looked guilty.

"Look," she said. "I'm kidding. I really didn't want to go anyway, trust me. I'd actually rather just stay here and do this with you."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you are extremely old for your age?" he sighed. "And another thing, don't seventeen-year-old girls usually have some sort of wild side or something? You know, a 'not caring' stage they go through? Did I miss that or what?"

Hermione laughed at his theory. She wouldn't explain to him now that, since October, she had definitely been a little wilder than her usual amount - which was none at all. She had had a 'relationship' with Draco Malfoy, a secret relationship behind her friends backs no less. And now she was kissing Michael and keeping _that_ a secret.

"So, where do these go?"

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"Leave me alone," Draco snarled to his father, getting up from the breakfast table. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, Draco, I could beg to differ, but I won't," Lucious said calmly. "Zabini has informed me of his son's current predicament at school, and somehow you were involved. He said that _his_ son would not offer all the details, but my son will. Now, you will tell me what has happened, because I know that Potter and that mudblood girl were both involved as well."

Draco cringed at the crude word _mudblood_ as if he had been hit. His father noticed.

"Draco!" he snapped. "What has happened to you? What is wrong with you? Where is your back bone, boy!"

He glowered at his father, hatred burning in his stomach, in his eyes. The words were at the tip of his tongue, but he dared not speak them for it would just get him into further trouble. He just couldn't stand the way he had called Hermione a mudblood like she was nothing, like she was something so insignificant that she didn't deserve a name at all. And she wasn't insignificant. She was his everything and his father was degrading her. How could he listen to that?

"I said I don't know what you're talking about," he sneered. "Blaise is a jerk and I don't talk to him anymore. He probably just mentioned my name so that this would happen." Draco gestured between the two of them sharply. "So, leave me the hell alone and stop your harping."

Lucious was outraged. "How dare you speak to me like that. I can see that this problem is rooted somewhere, though. Now, are you going to tell me or am I going to have to help it out of you?" he asked, toying with his wand at the tips of his long, pale fingers. Draco didn't flinch. There was no worse pain than how he felt when he though of Hermione. Whatever his father would do could only distract him from that pain and he didn't mind that idea at all.

"My God, you look like some deprived, depressed, lost dog!" Lucious said, disgusted. "Where's the fight in you? Where is _my_ son."

"You know," he said darkly. "I don't have a clue. But let me know if you see my father, because you sure as hell aren't mine."

Lucious' arm shot out in front of him, his wand but an inch from Draco's face. Again, he didn't flinch. When his father hesitated in surprise of Draco's lack of response, Draco sneered and pushed the wand away with force.

"I'm not your servant, I don't run around like a spy, either, and I am definitely not your experimental death eater. Don't tell me what to do, don't expect that I'll do it if you do and don't call me your son. If I'm so much of a disgrace to you, then maybe you'll finally understand my point of view."

Draco turned to leave, but his father was much to angry to let him leave yet. Draco felt the wall slam into him – or rather, he had been thrown into it. Obstinately, he rose to his feet and faced his father.

"Draco, Draco, Draco . . .," he mused, sauntering forward. "I don't think you understand how important this family's image is. I can't have you running around, acting like this."

Draco just glared, waiting for the point.

"What has gotten into you?" he demanded, his anger showing now. Draco smirked.

"Does it bother you? Not to have control over every little thing around you?" he provoked. He wanted to fight now, he wanted to yell.

"Draco, you will tell me. Now. What is wrong with you?"

He didn't answer.

There was a bright flash – Draco couldn't even remember the colour – and then there was pain. He got to his feet again though, refusing to be brought down by a bully. "ANSWER ME, BOY!"

"You know what!" he snapped. "I am just trying to be not like YOU so much that I guess I forgot that you hate it when I don't show up as a little replica. I am not you, and I will never be. I am going my own way. You always told me that love and life like other people have it is useless and that all you need is money and power. That's a lie and you know that. I'm leaving tomorrow night, and you won't see me again. I'm sick of this place. It only reminds me of all the wasted time and energy."

"Love?" Lucious said, shocked. "What the hell are you talking about? Is this about some _girl_?"

Lucious laughed bitterly.

Draco turned, his eyes burning. Lucious stopped laughing.

"It _is_ about some girl," Lucious said confidently. "Well, well. I don't know what you've found in her that can make you–,"

"Stop it," he growled, interrupting him. He would not talk about Hermione. She was definitely not just some girl. "You will not call her anymore names, or talk about her or mention her!"

Lucious stopped, thinking a moment. "Any more names? – what on earth are you–?"

And then realization hit them both at the same time. Draco had said too much. Lucious understood the implication.

His face had never been so contorted with fury. "You are going to stand there. And tell me. That you love – that – stupid — dirty – mudblood – _freak_ –?"

Draco seemed to explode. His wand was out, and he was shouting so many spells that he couldn't remember the order. The room was alight with shots of blue and purple and was bright enough to blind them both in a moment. Draco stopped, and stared at his father with his chest heaving. Lucious looked horrified, disgusted, livid.

"She is the one who has done this to you? Made you into this – soft – little – fragile – thing?" Lucious asked with a grimace on his face. "Warped your mind? Poisoned you with her stupid mudblood thoughts?"

Draco was seething, inhaling deeply. He never regretted his decision to leave Hermione more than he did at this moment, knowing that the misery could be fixed so easily, with honesty and dignity and . . . and he didn't have to stand here and hear this from his father . . . all he wanted was Hermione. To see those bright eyes, beautiful smile, hear her silvery voice, to feel her brilliancy again . . . directed at him . . . for her to know that he loved her, and that she made all this pain, and all of his greatest problems disappear. He had barely thought about his father in the weeks he had been with Hermione. The only thing he could think of, or see, was her face. The only thing he could hear was her voice. His heart only beat for her, and he felt like he had only kept himself breathing for her. Now that she was gone, every breath was painful, it was hard work. His chest was hallow, and where had he left his heart? With her.

"You pathetic, snivelling little . . ." Lucious said, interrupting Draco's thoughts. "There you stand, smiling like an idiot – you are an idiot! – and you expect no consequences for your actions, boy? Eh?"

Draco stalked off, deflecting a spell from his father's wand as he climbed the marble steps to collect his things. He would walk home if it meant getting out of here. How did he ever think that this would be a safe place? A place where he could relieve the pain? This was hell. It was torture. It reminded him of everything he hated, and in contrast, the one thing he loved. And the pain inside him burned and ripped him up like never before.

He had to get back. Now. He had to beg for forgiveness. He had to somehow try to explain that he didn't know why he had admitted to something he hadn't done. . . how he never would have done that to her . . . not in a million years . . . never . . . that he would do anything to prove it to her.

He could only hope he still had a chance, that she didn't hate him or believe the lies that she had been told.

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The students on the Hogsmade trip returned quickly, it seemed, to Hermione. But when she checked the time, she found it to be nearly six. She knew it would be best to join her friends in the Great Hall for dinner.

She and Michael had cleaned the classroom well. It was almost unrecognizable. And they had had fun, in spite of the activity. After they had finished, they had moved the desks back and Hermione sat down, exhausted. Michael had sat next to her.

"You know this is all wrong," he said, frowning. She knew what he was referring to.

She shrugged indifferently. "I'm tired of trying to see things the 'right way'. Sometimes, what's right for some people is completely wrong for others. I'm sick of trying to be in the right. It only get's you hurt."

He regarded her with calculating eyes. He must have been wondering if she was crazy or stupid. But he smiled. "I shouldn't be complaining, really," he admitted sheepishly. "I'm just worried that you will regret–"

Hermione had cut him off. "Don't talk about regret. You can't change the past . . . well, actually, you can . . . but it's hard and I'm not messing with that again. My point is, just let things be. Don't get so worked up. Of course, if you'd rather wait until after my graduation for that first date, I'm willing. I don't want to get you into trouble."

Hermione was honest, and realized his job was at stake.

He laughed and shook his head. "You'd think that you'd realize how little I am concerned about myself when I'm around you, but alas, you have not grasped the concept. Oh well. You will."

Hermione remembered the way he softly brushed her lips with his finger and then secured her face within his hands and placed a soft kiss on her cheek before they lapsed into a comfortable, soothing silence.

Hermione left to meet Harry, Ron and Ginny soon thereafter, another simple and soft kiss passing between them. The rush of adrenaline he gave her stung her all the way to her toes. It wasn't like . . . like how it had been . . . with him, and she had to tell herself that right now so she didn't say anything she regretted to Michael. But it was still a good feeling. She found that it pushed all the pain to the bottom of her heart, and let all the numbness protect her, let the shield grow thicker, stronger and more able to hold in the old, permanent pain and keep out any new pain.

When she sat next to Ginny, she seemed to be conspicuous immediately. She wondered what her face gave away.

"Hermione?" Ginny said, regarding the colour in her cheeks and slight brightness in her eyes. "I didn't see you today . . . did you go?" She was frowning, observing Hermione carefully.

"No," Hermione said honestly. "I spent the day cleaning and catching up on some work."

Alright, so mostly honest.

"Hm," Ginny said, nodding. She looked frustrated, confused. She picked at her food. Hermione sensed something along the lines of a girl talk approaching soon. She wondered how much she should tell Ginny, or would be able to tell her . . .

Harry and Ron were quiet, seemingly tired from walking around all day. Hearing about their purchases and the like only reminded her of her last trip to Hogsmade, when she and . . . when he had been simply another argument to have, when they had simply been acquaintances with a hard time letting go of personal grudges. But it was painful to remember, because her nostalgia for that time was too strong and she couldn't bare the weight of it when it threatened to crush her.

After dinner, all four of them walked back to the Gryffindor common room. And, just as Hermione had predicted, Ginny purposefully pulled Hermione aside.

"Hermione," she said seriously, when they were safely secluded in the girls' rooms. "I am worried about you." Hermione opened her mouth to speak but Ginny talked over her. "Look, I know you won't tell me in full detail about what happened with Malfoy – oh, don't cringe, Hermione! – but I really think that you should! Because . . . from what I see . . . from what has been going on and how you've been acting . . . I would swear on the fact that you loved him. And still do."

Hermione's head was whirling. Hearing his name and the fact of her remaining love, and the pain that reminded her of her loss . . . it made her dizzy enough to grab hold of the bedpost and attempt to slow her breathing.

"Ginny . . ." she said. She supposed it was time to let her know the sad, pathetic truth. The truth that devastated her and gave her nightmares, that drove her too the edge and made her go crazy with confusion. "He doesn't want me. He . . . said it was better that we weren't together. Well, his exact words were, that I'll be 'better off'."

Ginny immediately got up and turned to Hermione, her expression indignant, as if she were about to accuse her of lying, of those words being impossible, unimaginable. But she just began to pace, looking extremely frustrated.

"Look . . . I've been thinking of nothing but this since I found you . . . since we talked and I first found out . . . and I really think that I'm right!" Ginny said with honesty. She was still pacing. Hermione decided that as long as she was going to rip open her unhealed wound, she might as well be thorough.

"Ginny," she sighed. "As long as we're trying to be honest here, and as long as this topic seems to be open . . . you should know that Harry knew, too."

She stopped pacing and stared incredulously at Hermione. Her voice was flat when she spoke. "What?"

"Okay, listen for a second . . . let me explain completely." Hermione took in a deep breath and began to choose her words carefully. "So, Harry found out through Dobby, who thought that something was wrong and that Harry was going to have to protect me or save me . . . Harry was livid, absolutely, incredibly, impossibly angry with me. I thought he would hate me forever . . . and I didn't want to see that look on yours or Ron's face, and please don't pretend that you wouldn't have felt that way if you had found me snogging Draco somehow!"

His name burned her throat as she spoke it, but she continued anyway. She had to get through this. Ginny stayed quiet, listening.

"I know that the only reason you _weren't_ angry with me, is because you found me so . . ." Hermione flinched, remembering her reflection in the mirror after her day's worth of tears spent, after laying on the bathroom floor. She remembered the intolerable pain, the stark realization, the crashing, burning, bleeding of her heart, her wasted love poured out and gone, fading too quickly. "Because you found me after the fact . . . you saw me after I had failed the lesson I should have learned." Hermione's voice was sour.

"Hermione, this doesn't make any sense!" Ginny protested, ignoring Hermione's speech completely. "Did you see him punch Blaise? I have a hunch what that was about! And did you know he sulks around the hallways and never speaks in his classes? Well, of course _you_ wouldn't, because you hate hearing his name so you wouldn't stand to listen what people are saying. They're all saying something horrible has happened to him, that his soul disappeared! Making up rumours that he's a ghost! Do you see that, Hermione? People think he's dead! That's how sad he is! If he really didn't want you, then where is his triumphant Malfoy smirk at the victory of hurting you?"

Hermione was shaking her head before Ginny had finished, not disagreeing, but more trying to fight the logic and the facts – something she would never do.

She sighed and tried again to convince her red-headed friend. "Ginny, I'll never be able to take back what I've done. I have to live life knowing that I gave my heart to a serpent and spend it trying to relieve and ignore and numb the pain that will never disappear. Because, Ginny, you should know as well, that I gave myself to him in every way possible. He will have that forever. And he doesn't want it."

It took Ginny a moment to completely understand what Hermione was admitting, and she looked – not appalled, to Hermione's relief – but shocked slightly, and awed.

"He told me he hurt me." Hermione said quietly, finishing.

"But you don't believe that," Ginny said with conviction, narrowing her eyes. It wasn't an accusation, it was a stated fact and Hermione had to turn away because her honest answer was that no, she didn't believe it.

"Ginny, you have to understand," Hermione said sadly. "The Draco I thought I knew . . . "– Hermione found that though it would hurt after the fact of saying his name, it was nice to say it –"I mean, I really believed that I knew the real Draco, that he was more than the simple, crude exterior that we had all hated for years. When he offered me love and life beyond what I had ever thought, who was I to say no? I really, truly believed in his trust and thought that I really could be with him. It's not so easy to think that it was all a lie, and that he could hurt me so much and just throw me away."

Hermione was letting herself fall back into a rut that was dangerously deep and she had to struggle to keep from falling. She had to concentrate on what little she could still appreciate. There was the rush of anger toward Draco that satisfied her. There was the adrenaline that Michael caused her, increasing the numbness and helping her to forget the pain, to hide it. There was Harry and Ron and Ginny and their happiness. . . she still had something to be thankful for in this world, even if none of it was love and never would be.

Hermione couldn't but help to feel guilty about her thoughts and words. She never did explain to Michael that she was incapable of love. It was unfair to him not to know that. But she had to be honest with herself at least and at most Ginny, because she deserved that much.

Ginny still looked disbelieving, but recognized the strong emotions that Hermione was hiding, that there was much more behind the wall then she was letting out. So she nodded, put her arm around her friend, and said no more about the subject. Ginny decided, that if Hermione couldn't see it – see that Draco did love her and did want her and did miss her just as much as she did him – , she was going to have to _make_ her see it.

Downstairs in the common room, Harry and Ron had just finished a game of chess – Ron had won, as usual, but he noticed that it seemed a lot easier than it should have been.

"Harry – you alright?" Ron asked absent-mindedly, setting up the board again.

"Yeah," Harry grumbled, not really listening. He was wondering what Ginny and Hermione were talking about. He was happy at dinner to see her smiling, to see that she didn't look so pale or sick – that she seemed to look better. But somehow, it felt like Ginny was fighting it. Harry was working so hard to have Hermione away from Malfoy, to have her forget, move on and be the Hermione he knew and loved, and it seemed like every time he turned around, Ginny was trying to fight it.

His stomach was churning with guilt, and now it would even occur when he wasn't around Hermione. Even when he would think about her, how sick she had looked, how sad, how quiet – it hurt him, too. But what was he to do? Malfoy was an evil, stupid, malicious git . . . and he was taking advantage of his best friend. Harry was not a coward, but he knew that Hermione would never have listened to him.

He was so torn. He hated that he had lied so much and set Malfoy up, but then again . . . it was Malfoy. And it was Hermione. The contrast was unequivocal. There was no choice of whom he should protect. Even if Malfoy hadn't helped Blaise . . . he was bound to have done something or planned to do something just as horrible to Hermione . . .

The stomach pains returned. He should feel this way, he reminded himself. He had caused more trouble than he had saved . . . But overall, could it really be such a bad thing that Hermione wasn't with Malfoy?

Harry straightened up and tried to smooth the crease in his forehead as Hermione and Ginny returned downstairs. Ginny had that same calculating look in her eye, and Harry's stomach rolled. Hermione looked . . . still better, but sad all the same.

Harry sighed, feeling an ominous feeling that there was more to come.


	32. Of Anticipation and Mystification

**there's not enough times to say sorry for the absurdly long time it has been since I have updated. but still, I'm soo soo soo soo soo sooo sorry! its just I've been working frantically to finish another story I want to try and get published and it's been really stressfull. and also, school's been overwhelming and now I have an overload of hw and projects and exams. it's no real excuse of course, I've had free time, but still, the need to explain is still there. i'm sorry! but enjoy this chapter, i liked writing it. another update is coming soon, i'm eager to see how this turns out ;)**

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Chapter thirty-two – Of Anticipation and Mystification

Draco heaved himself through the door, relieved to be back. Hogwarts felt more like home than any other place to him now. And he knew who to thank for that.

He threw down his bag and searched the dark, empty common room quickly. She wasn't there. He rushed up to her door, and banged on it three times.

"Hermione!" he said, his voice shaking with anticipation.

No answer.

He opened the door, but her room was also empty. His chest heaved as he seethed in disappointment. He had wanted to romantically burst through the door and take her into his arms, and kiss her until she made him feel whole again. Now, he would have to wait for her to return.

But from where?

It was Sunday night, just passed six. Did dinner run this late? Or maybe she was with Potter or one of the Weasley's . . . in any case, he could wait a little longer after the horrifyingly long month he had waited for his sense to return. What had he been thinking! Telling Hermione he didn't love her, making her feel and look like she had . . . it made him sick to his core when he thought about the pan he had caused her, and now he was completely gambling by telling her that he was going to simply take it all back. Hermione may have loved him at one point . . . but he was betting on the fact that he would have to work three times as hard to make her see that it was worth it.

He sat on her bed, looking around the room. He smiled. For the first real time in however long it had been . . . he genuinely smiled. He was so excited to see her, see her like how he had seen her before, to look at her and not have to hold back the love that would show in his eyes. That had been a task – a difficult one at that. He had had to make his eyes so hard, so lifeless . . . so distant. Show no emotion – just like before, just like his father. He shuddered at the thought. But he had surely made his father mad enough to leave him alone. At least for a while. He had to understand that, sooner or later, he couldn't control him. He had nothing that Draco wanted. Draco didn't even want to be his son.

Draco stood, not wanting to think of what had happened that weekend. There was no need to get angry or worked up when he was so close to seeing Hermione . . . so close it made him anxious. He anticipated her arrival so much so, that he found himself pacing and whispering to himself what he might say.

"Hermione . . . I can't explain why I said what I said in Dumbledore's office . . . I don't know what happened . . . I never would have helped Blaise . . . I love you . . ."

He kept imagining the best and worst possible scenarios. The best would obviously be for her to be overwhelmingly happy to see him like this, that she would kiss him and forgive him immediately. The worst would be . . . for her to say that she didn't – couldn't – love him anymore after what he had done and that she didn't want him.

He would accept that answer . . . but he doubted he would be able to stop fighting. He would not let go without a fair struggle first. It had been so hard to finally realize that he was meant for her, and almost as soon as they had been as happy as any two people could be . . . they had lost it. He was greedy. He wanted it back, he wanted to see her smile and kiss her like never before. He wanted her to be happy – with him.

Malfoy laid back onto the bed, smiling at the ceiling like a true idiot – an idiot in love, he thought wryly. The minutes ticked by, and then slowly an hour passed. After that, another passed. He found himself watching the sky outside change colour. It darkened slower than it had in the previous weeks, but still quickly. He waited.

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"Hermione, tell me something," Michael said. They were sitting the classroom again. He had been marking things and had asked Hermione to stay, for he would finish quickly. And he had. She was sitting in her own desk, and he was sitting in Malfoy's old seat. She didn't want to admit how ironic that seemed to her.

"Yes?" she said, caught off guard by his serious tone. A moment ago they had been laughing and joking.

"Would you ever consider staying with me?" he said, and she immediately caught on to the double meaning in his words. She stiffened, and looked down to the desk. She found it hard to answer, for more than one reason . . . for more than a million reasons, actually.

He was laughing and shaking his head a second later, and she looked up, afraid she had hurt his feelings. How long had she been quiet for? She gazed at him with anxious, apologetic eyes.

"You don't have to get so worked up, it's just some consideration I was wondering about." He smiled. "I never knew you had commitment issues."

Hermione wanted to say that she didn't, that the question disarmed her for a much different reason, but she decided to keep it simple with a smile and a nod.

"I had fun this weekend," he commented.

"Me, too." And she had. That first adrenaline rush was . . . unbelievable. How it had affected her! The numbness it brought, the relief . . . it was wonderful. And then to have someone there to hold her together! Someone she actually liked – as a friend and now more than that. It was so . . . just amazing. She never thought she could push herself so far, but here she was.

"I like spending time with you," he broadened his opinion. Hermione felt a strong twinge of guilt. She was here to make herself feel better, and he was here because he liked her and wanted to be with her. And now, possibly, wanted to stay with her . . .

"There's no question that I do, too," she said. And that was true enough. Being around him was like medication. It soothed her, and almost felt as natural as . . . well, she would ignore that comparison as she often did. There was no use in dreaming when there was nothing left to dream for.

"It's late," he said, frowning. She smiled at the disappointment in his face. "Sometimes I wish the sun would never go down; we would never have to be apart."

"What a world that would be," she teased, smiling. Being together all the time . . . she tried to hide the panic at even the suggestion. How would she explain all the times where she got angry at nothing apparent? Or almost collapsed into tears for no visible reason at all? No, she thought the moon was a good friend of hers. "I do have to go."

He walked her to the door unnecessarily, like always. "Good night," he breathed, and he leaned down to kiss her passionately. She held onto it, her heart – well, pieces of it – pounding ferociously. It distracted her from everything in such a wondrous way. He pulled away, misreading the wistfulness in her eyes.

She managed to say goodbye without making a face. She didn't want to give him any ideas. She still hadn't explained everything to him. But it wasn't as if she didn't plan to, she just wanted a little more time to make a better cushion, to soften him up. He probably would be angry, if not appalled, and she just wanted more good than bad for him to weigh against one another, so that maybe, if he was too . . . well, if he saw what wasn't really there anymore – in her – and didn't want to be with her, perhaps they could still be good friends like before, and he could keep on holding her together.

It was as good a plan as any other – at least until graduation. She shuddered at the thought of what would happen when she left the school. So many people's lives would be just beginning. Jobs, carriers, maybe, meeting new people, new friends, boyfriends and girlfriends . . .marriage and kids and homes and all the non-magical but still fully magic things that went along with that. Hermione sighed.

All of their lives would be beginning, and yet, she knew hers would feel like an end. How could she bare to leave and possibly never be reminded of the few great weeks she had here? And it pained her mentally to realize that she was only thinking of a certain blonde when she said this, and not her friends nor Michael.

Because, as hard as it was to be around the reminders and he himself every day, it would be harder to force herself to let it go and leave . . .to have to start over and breathe in new, unfamiliar air in her broken chest. To never see his face again . . . even though when she did see it, it was nothing but stone and emptiness. Could Ginny have been telling the truth? Could he really have been wandering around as upset as she was?

But he had let her go! Forced her away, was a better way to look at it. Clearly she was nothing but a few weeks of distraction or something crude – some game, some bet, some nothing of a person. Nothing. She hated to think that that's all she had been to him. A game . . . nothing that mattered.

It was difficult, if not impossible, to believe how stupid she really was, after priding herself on nothing but intelligence her whole life. That was all she had always had. That had always been her constant. It was always her fallback. She never believed she was that pretty, but she always reminded herself that she was brilliant. She never was that skilled with any sports – muggle or magical – but she could certainly invent her own sport and make it famous. That was_ something_. Maybe she couldn't make friends that easily, maybe she might be a little eccentric at times – get carried away with elves rights and what not – but she had her mind, no matter what . . . or so it had seemed. Maybe she was a_ bit _favoured by _some_ teachers . . . maybe she annoyed some, or most, other students with her prudence. But oh well – she had brains! She had words and books and intelligence . . . right?

Wrong.

She was an _idiot_. Lies came spewing from the most untrustworthy person she had ever known, and just because he was the first one to claim to love her more than a sister or a friend, she believed them! Hell, she actually _fell in love_ with him! How could she truly love someone who had nothing real to reciprocate with? She knew she was not exactly an expert on love or relationships, but she thought that . . . when you really believed the feeling was requited honestly and passionately . . . that you couldn't mistake it. How could she have been fooled by him?

She scowled at the floor as she walked. Look what he had made her . . . some snivelling depressed girl, never wanting to leave the school because of fear. She was Gryffindor, was she not? What happened to all her bravery? All her heart?

He took it and smashed it, remember? She told herself sourly.

He really must have earned that Headboyship, she thought. He was smarter than her after all. He had fooled her. Taken her. Used her. Broken her beyond repair. And yet, she still refused to give herself over to the logic that he _had_ hurt her, even though the words had come directly from his own mouth, right in front of her. She refused to think it was a lie, though the pain worsened every day – beneath the numbness it grew, and spread. Denying it and lying to herself wasn't working – that only made her look and feel stupid. Yet hanging on to him and the memories seemed even more useless, because she knew that she never would – could – voice those feelings that she had – the ones that told her, urged her to love him and not give up. And still, after all that, she could not let go, either!

What an impossible line to struggle with! It was ridiculous of her to believe she could keep it all up at once; ignoring yet embracing the pain, because it hurt to imagine forgetting and it hurt still to try and relive it.

Hermione came through the common room door, her mind jumbled. The adrenaline rush from Michael's lips had long worn off – she had nothing now but the anger, the stupid, useless anger.

She kicked her shoes off and left them in the common room – unusual, but who could call her a slob? _He_ wasn't even here!

Being reminded that he had left her only fuelled her anger further, and when she opened the door to her room, she was sure she had pushed herself too far – that she had snapped.

There, laying on her bed looking more like a God than a young man, was Draco Malfoy. His eyes were closed. The room was darkened by the night outside, the only light falling through was a grey blue cast from the moon and reflection of the Black Lake out on the grounds. It made his white blonde hair even brighter, made his translucent skin appear that much more soft. It was the picture of perfection – purity. It knocked the breath out of her. She stared, her mouth hanging open.

"I'm crazy," she whispered to herself, inaudible because of the lack of air. Her eyes filled with tears. Even after all of the pain she had felt, even though she had just been thinking about how much she hated the position she was now in, she felt _grateful_ for the insanity that placed him in her room, on her bed, and within her reach. She felt the relief coursing through her. It was nice to see him the way she had always thought of him – perfect, loving, forgiving, divine, beautiful . . . not that ugly sneering creature that had torn her in two.

She didn't realize the tears had spilled over onto her cheeks at first, and she quickly wiped them away. She wondered if this was fixable, this whole seeing things that weren't there thing. Or maybe it was a long term disorder she had but never realized – how else could she have ever seen the grace and beauty in Draco Malfoy? The love burning in his undescribably silver eyes? The softness of his lips? The tenderness of his touch when he held her . . . the humour he had, the _good _humour, that is . . . the nice laughter, the unforgettable moments . . .

The door had fallen shut quietly behind her, and she backed into it, pressing herself against it, struggling to find her voice, some air, even. She couldn't keep her eyes off of him. She was afraid he would disappear. She didn't know what was worse – reminding herself that it was inevitable he would be gone, because this moment could not last forever, or forcing it to be so. What was worse? She debated quickly, her heart hammering madly inside her rib cage. _Letting_ him go, and feeling the pain of abandonment all over, or _making_ him go, and feeling the sadder, yet more powerful pain, of knowing none of it was real?

She didn't know when she began sobbing, letting the misery pour out, but she did. She wiped the tears away, feeling silly after a moment. And then she felt scared. She was hallucinating, and all she could think of was how she missed him and needed him. She should be worried about her health, but yet, she was oddly at peace because he was so near . . . or so it seemed, she reminded herself darkly.

She was sniffing, the last traces of her hysterics fading as she began debating about what had brought this on and what could make it go away, when he stirred. She froze, eyes wide, still glued to the door. He moved, his head turned over on the pillow. Even she heard the sharp intake of breath.

And then he turned back towards her and his eyes opened. He sat up, and smiled.

"Hermione!"

Her mouth fell open and her breath came out in an odd _whoosh_ing sound. So, imaginations could really talk? Or was insanity really this simple and pleasant? Hm.

"Hermione?" he said, unsure. He sat up on the bed and swung his legs over the edge. He smiled sheepishly and look of realization spread across his perfect face. "Oh," he smiled sheepishly. "I guess this isn't a great greeting . . . I was waiting so long I fell asleep. Sorry if I scared you."

Hermione blinked rapidly once, twice, three times . . . and he remained. She was confounded.

"Hermione . . . say something, please?" he begged, stiff now. His eyes were pleading; there was no way she could resist.

"I . . . don't know what to say." That was as good as anything. She was drawing a blank.

"I know this doesn't make sense to you . . ."

He had that right.

"But I needed to end this – this stupidity before it was too late. Or maybe it is? I don't know," he sighed, staring at her still.

"Sorry?" she said. It hurt to concentrate so much, especially when she was distracted by his breathtaking beauty. "What?"

"Hermione, you seem odd, are you sick? Maybe you should sit," he said in a rush, he stood and offered her a seat on the bed. She shook her head. It would be best to stay on the other side of the room – far away from the mirage as possibly. No need to get carried away and get too close. What would happen to her when she reached out to touch him and he swirled around like a cloud of dust in thin air? Surely nothing good.

"What's wrong?" he finally said. "Should I go?"

Could she command him to go away? Was that the key?

"Why are you here?" she managed. That was a good question, she needed at least that information.

He sighed and looked down. "I left this weekend to go home – take a break from this place. I thought, 'I need to get away from here, away from her!' but I was dead wrong, of course, like I always am. I realized that I needed to see you, and so I came home early . . . and I'm trying to talk to you . . . but . . . Hermione, what's that look for?"

It slowly began to register that she was not seeing anything imaginary at all. His words came together in such a way that her cheeks filled with red – something that hadn't happened in a while – and she swallowed hard. She flicked on the light, and blinked several times so her eyes could adjust.

"Draco?" she choked out, astonished. He smiled and nodded, and came forward to her. She was still frozen to the wall, of course, the paralysing shock hadn't worn off her yet. He took her warm face in his comparatively cool hands and his face was suddenly an inch from hers. Her eyes flew wide again. She didn't have time to speak.

His lips touched hers in the most soft, unimaginable way. They moved silently, wistfully, hopefully . . . lovingly? She didn't even realize that she had thawed until she noticed that her arms had twined around his neck and her hands were greedily touching his hair. She had forgotten how silky it truly was – perfect like the rest of him.

The few seconds where his lips left hers to touch her neck and then the hollow beneath her ear, he huskily whispered her name. She desperately clung to him, crushing herself to his form. She had been concentrating so much on his flawless facial features and beautiful lips that she hadn't even remembered how marvellous his body was. So much she had missed!

"I love you," he said.

Suddenly everything – every pain, every thought – came crashing down on her en masse. She ripped herself away from him, having to push him back because there was such a small space behind her. He moved back slightly, eyeing her oddly. There seemed to be fear in his eyes, sorrow. She stared, uncomprehending for a moment. She began to gasp, an odd . . . unfamiliar word choking her.

"_Love_?" she said. Yeah, that would be the word. A word she hadn't truly believed in for a while – a word that had caught her off guard and knocked the wind out of her, sent butterflies rushing through her body. It was as if he was saying it for the first time.

"Of course!" he said, not with a smile, but implying it was childly obvious. She still stared, feelings, unrecognizable yet, creeping up through her. She was so surprised, still recovering, that it took a minute to realize why she had pulled away at all – after all, that kiss had been exactly what she had wanted for weeks now . . . had it only been weeks?

She shook her head, the hallucination theory suddenly seeming more relevant than silly.

"Hermione . . . there's so much to say, and I don't know how to start!" he admitted. "Everything that happened . . . I – ugh!" He took hold of his head with two hands, scrambling for words. "I'm so, so sorry! I could keep going, but it would be forever, and I will say sorry a million thousand times if you want me to. Anything it takes for you to believe it."

"Sorry," she echoed. There's something that she hadn't been expecting.

"I hurt you. It was wrong. And I'm sorry. I'm an idiot."

His words brought her back to her room, and the feelings that had been stirring inside of her finally boiled and tore open. The wounds were suddenly bleeding again – the cuts were fresh.

"_Sorry_?" she hissed scathingly. She now remembered all the anger and pain and numbness and complications, all the depression and the doubts, the spurts of tears and rapid hammering of her heart . . . the ripping . . . oh, the pain!

"You . . ." she began slowly. "You left me! You hurt me! You lied to me! You took . . . _everything_ I had, and threw it away! I may not be perfect, or some goddess of beauty or some image of wonder, but I am worth more that to be treated like _that_!"

"But you're wrong!" he insisted, and for a second she was shocked by his rudeness. But then he switched tracks. "You _are_ the most beautiful thing I have ever seen! You _are_ wondrous and perfect and brilliant . . . and I love you and I'm sorry!"

"Sorry you love me or sorry you left me?" she spat, unconvinced. The anger was powering her now, and nothing else. All the hurt was escaping in huge amounts of frustration.

"I'll never be sorry to love you," he murmured. "But to leave you . . . forever. Until the day I die."

"You can take your empty words and stick them elsewhere!" she shouted. "Because I'm not falling for it again!"

"This isn't a trick," he said, and though he looked honest, she had been pulled under too many times to give in that easily. "I love you . . . so much. So much it isn't _healthy_ . . . so much I can't _breathe_ without you!"

That hit home, and she had to hesitate. Calm down and get some explanation? Or keep going and release all that she had in her?

"That's nonsense!" she said, deciding to stick with the latter. "You . . you and _Blaise_–!"

"Never!" he boomed, and she had to shrink back at the fierceness in his eyes, the grey burning black with anger and revulsion. "This is what I have to tell you! I never helped him! Ever!"

Hermione stared, trying to comprehend the overload of information. Had it only been minutes that she had been home? It felt like forever since she had walked through the door angrily stomping, like a child having a tantrum. Coming back from . . . Michael's classroom. Another wave of guilt crashed down on her. Oh, no.

"You admitted it. To me, to Dumbledore, in front of Harry . . ." she whispered, her voice shaky. Her head was spinning.

"No, no, no!" he said, not denying it, but rather refusing it. She knew that feeling. "I don't know . . . why I said those things."

"The same way you don't know why you said you were leaving and that it was better that way?" she asked, an edge back in her voice, her back up. She narrowed her eyes. He hesitated.

"No . . . I said that . . . because I knew you were . . .way too good for me. You deserved way better, and I was dragging you down. But in the office that was rubbish! All wrong! Nothing was true! I swear! I swear on my love for you it was a lie!"

"You should probably pick something a little more believable, first off, and second . . . how can I believe you? One was a lie, one wasn't? One was purposeful and the other you say you don't know why you said it? Where's the distinction? Both times were you and your voice and your words, your thoughts . . . both said to me. Both breaking everything, including me. What do I have left to put my faith in? Everything's overcrowded with lies. Spilling over, actually."

He stared, his eyes deep with the pain. She couldn't make herself look away, but she refused to take it back. She wouldn't be made a fool again, she couldn't – wouldn't be able to – stand the pain again. How many different holes could pierce a heart before it crumbled to pieces? Surely she would die if she were to fall again and have no one catch her.

"I love you," he whispered desperately, and he reached out and grabbed her hand. He made a step forward, not to kiss her, but just to be closer, to look into her eyes. The pain that pooled in those beautiful silver eyes was too much to bear. She looked away.

"Please, don't," she said. And then suddenly she felt silly again, silly for resisting the urge to yell, silly for being quiet and calm. She removed her hand from his and opened the door. "I can't be ripped apart any further – the damage is done. You can have your laugh now."

He stared, frozen with pain and fear. He walked shakily out of the room and turned to see her pushing it closed with trembling hands, tears spilling out of her eyes before the door was fully shut.

Hermione knew that this was what would be needed in any normal case – closure. That final thing to make someone move on, to ensure them that there was nothing left worth looking for, dreaming about, wishing for, reaching towards . . .

But this did not feel normal. His face, his eyes, his words . . . that _kiss_ . . .

Why? Why could she not accept the obvious or the logical? Why did this happen! Why hadn't any of the normal happened, taken its course? Really, she should probably be with Ron. Instead, she was in love with a boy who tore her heart to shreds, and she was with a man that possibly loved her and was older, and a teacher, and should have only been a friend.

If this was supposed to be the final stitch to a wound – something to quicken to the healing – why did it feel worse than ever?


	33. Of Decisions and Diplomacy

Chapter thirty three – Of Decisions and Diplomacy

Needless to say, the night was not easy. Hermione tossed and turned for hours, until the light outside her window grew bleak with the faded light of the sun through the clouds. The feeling that coursed through her was almost electric. And it was caused by the pure awareness in her body, like every cell of her knew he was within reach, and not only that, but she could have him if she chose to.

But Hermione refused to be broken again. She had made her choice and now was simply the time to follow through with her decision – no matter how appallingly painful it was. She did not let herself cry, though, and that much she was proud of. However, she was worried that she was more numb than ever now. By the time she got up for Monday morning classes, she was so over-tired that her brain seemed to be working on pure adrenaline. She had barely slept and now she had hours of learning to endure. She sighed.

She put on her uniform, threw up her hair and washed her face in record time, all the while feeling like a zombie. She found her shoes in the common room and grabbed them in her rush to leave. She was early for breakfast, so she decided to go to Michael's classroom.

She couldn't understand or explain the feeling inside of her. She knew the yearning to see Draco, to kiss him . . . she knew it was utterly absurd. And not possible. She _would not_ put herself through that again. He was a dirty, lying, hurtful fiend. She would not place herself in hands, just praying he would not crush her.

Why then . . . ? Why had he apologized? Why had he said he loved her? If he really just wanted to hurt her, why had he backtracked? Hermione bit her lip as she continued to walk. Maybe, she though hopelessly, maybe along the lines of playing her for a fool, maybe he had come to like – or love – her on some kind of real level? Maybe he was just trying to see how many times he could break her into a million pieces before she went insane? Maybe he was losing bets more often than not these days? Maybe he was bored, maybe . . . there were a million maybes to ponder, but Hermione could think of only one logical assumption.

He loved her. He loved her in earnest, and he was sorry that he hurt her, and he wanted to be with her again.

She had to contradict herself, though.

He had hurt her so badly! He and Blaise, no matter how vehemently he refused to admit to it (again), she had heard it once before, and if he had not denied it right away, why now? What sense did that make? Was he trying to play mind games with her? Was this some type of fun for him?

Perhaps . . . Hermione sighed. Perhaps, he liked to spend time with her. Perhaps he missed it. Maybe she was misreading the whole thing, and perhaps she had made the biggest mistake by letting him leave her room last night. He could have stayed, he could have kept kissing her. They could have been together all night . . . she could have forgotten about everything, not cared about it at all. She could have had him.

Hermione's heart began to race. This wasn't a good thing to be thinking about. This craving, this urge for his touch, for his lips and hands . . . just the very _sight_ of him . . . it was not healthy. The burning in her stomach told her that. She would do something very stupid very soon if she could not find a way to stop thinking about him. _How_ though?

Her walk was fast and frantic now, her heart pounding wildly, driving her forward. Michael could stifle this insanity. Someone so smart and logical . . Surely he could keep her grounded. He wouldn't let her hurt herself by being mislead so terribly as she had before. He could keep her in one piece, she reminded herself. He had been one of the things that kept her together during the most awful weeks of herself. How could he not help her now? She couldn't see how he couldn't. She couldn't imagine why he _wouldn't_.

Besides all of that, she scolded herself, she was _with_ Michael now, wasn't she? How could she even be entertaining thoughts she was having about Draco. That was a betrayal on many levels.

She swallowed worriedly.

What about that kiss? What about Draco's perfect, flawless lips moving gracefully and wistfully with her own? What about the way her heart had leapt into her throat and the way her mind had gone blank and the way she had obliged without hesitation or protest? What about that? Wasn't that a far worse betrayal than a few, stupid, reckless ideas or thoughts?

No. It can't have been. She was simply so shocked to see him! She had thought he wasn't even real! How could that count? He had kissed _her_. Not the other way around. Sure, she had been a weak fight . . . okay, so no fight at all. But what could anyone expect after what she had been through with him? He was the first person she had ever loved. The first person to ever break her heart. When, for however a short period of time, she could relive the better part of her life with him, why not? Why not let go? Why not be stupid and uncaring for a minute or two, to feel the bliss and the heat and imagine that things were simple and easy again . . .?

Michael Dolop.

That was why. He was a great person, nice and loyal and brilliant and helpful and generous . . . and attractive. He was just as attractive as Draco was, maybe even more because he was older. More rugged. More dangerous-looking. And, not to mention the adrenaline rush he gave her.

But still . . .

Hermione's head spun around in answerless, undecided questions until she stood in front of his classroom door and hesitated only briefly to sort through some necessary thoughts. First, she decided to put to rest all of her internal deliberations concerning Draco Malfoy. It was crazy to even consider the possibility of being with him. Next, she had to make sure she was ready to let go. She hadn't realized how strong her nostalgia for those brighter, more wondrous, enigmatic days were until he had walked back into her life – her bedroom, more specifically. She had too loosen her grip on that, and let her mind become a sieve. Forget. She heaved a sad sigh.

Forget him. Move on. He is no good for her life, for her well being, for her heart, for her relationship with her friends, for her mind. He wasn't good for anything. Her lips trembled at the very idea. Forget . . .

Until when? The day where she saw him, way in the future, and was forced to remember? The day where she would cry for him, but it would be too late? The day she found out he was with another person, happy ... moving on with his life? It was painful to think – no, to realize – that she would never kiss him again. That the love that still pumped her blood would die and she would not have to feel the stupid passionate fire whenever she saw his face.

Her eyes welled up. She felt like an idiot.

But . . . how was she to forget! Especially after he had kissed her like that . . . especially after their last conversation, where he had apologized and said he had loved her, and she had shut the door on his face . . . what a way to forget.

Hermione had to stop thinking like this, she was falling into foot holes no matter where he mind wandered.

But, this all brought her to the last decision.

She would not tell Michael about the kiss. It would only upset him, and make him angry with her and possibly Draco, as well. That was completely unnecessary.

She would not tell him. But, she could make it up to him.

She took a deep breath and knocked unnecessarily on the wooden door. He came to answer quickly. "Oh! Hermione, good morning," he greeted, and she moved inside, butterflie assaulting her stomach when she thought of what she was about to do. He looked at his watch. "You're an early riser . . . why aren't you wearing your shoes?" He was smiling, but when she turned around to meet his eyes, his face fell.

"I don't know," she said hopelessly. Her head hurt from the lack of sleep and the crazy outcome of Draco's return last night. Not to mention all the arguments she had had with herself on the way here. She dropped her shoes, shaking her head and laughing at herself. What exactly was wrong with her?

"Maybe you should sit down," he said seriously, his eyebrows contracted. Hermione stepped toward him quickly and shook her head. She was momentarily caught off guard by his handsomeness. He was truly beautiful. He was strong. He wanted the best for her. He _saw_ the best in her. He was perfect, brilliant. His smile was breathtaking. His eyes, so brightly green, so full of logic and intelligence. She couldn't fathom his interest in her, but she would take it anyway.

"No thanks," she mumbled quietly.

"Are you alright–?" he said, but his words were lost underneath her lips pressing firmly onto his own. He kissed her willingly, but he was distracted, thinking about what could be bothering her. Hermione could feel that he wasn't completely taken by her kiss, so she had to try harder. She had to know that she could be with him and feel the feelings that Draco made rise from her, feelings that were unrecognizable to her, foreign. Amazing.

He stopped thinking altogether when the kiss deepened unexpectedly. She had pressed herself closer to him, parting his lips softly with her tongue. She sighed, her warm breath meeting his lips. Hermione had never ever felt the need to know someone liked or wanted or needed her. She needed to feel that now, she needed to feel his lips on her and his hands on her and know that he loved every moment, every sensation – to know that Draco wasn't the only one who felt that way, to know that she wasn't completely useless, that not all was lost.

Some would call it a rebound, but Hermione knew she did like Michael, so she kissed him passionately and pressed herself into him. He faltered backward, and leaned onto one of the nearby desks.

"Hermione," he mumbled under her lips, but she didn't stop. He sighed and reluctantly, gently forced her face away. "What's going on?"

She frowned, pouting. "You don't want to kiss me?" she asked, her voice sad. She didn't want to talk. Or think. She just wanted him and nothing else. Not now.

"Don't want . . .?" he laughed, shaking his head. "You're so silly, do you know that? But I'm not about to . . . well, in any case, what's going on?"

Hermione didn't answer, just smiled delicately at him and shrugged. The way their eyes connected made Michael's stomach flip, and he knew he shouldn't, so he tried to stay strong.

"You really just came here to be with me?" he said under his breath, seemingly astonished.

"Michael," she purred seductively. She almost blushed at the sound of her words and voice. This was so unlike her. But she _needed _it. She needed him. "You are the silly one. I come here to be with you, and you have to ask?" She chuckled softly, then became serious. "I thought you wanted me?" she asked innocently. "I thought, by the way you looked at me, I thought this is what you wanted . . ."

He balked, frozen. His heart was hammering inside his chest. Her eyes, those words, her voice . . . he blinked several times. This was insane. No person should have the power to make him feel this way! He felt tingly all over. His body was reaction before his mind – the curse of being a male. He couldn't comprehend what she was asking.

"Hermione . . ." It was ridiculous that his voice was shaky. "Please, please don't do this to me! You are going to kill me. This is painful to endure. You know how I feel about you, but you should also realize that we shouldn't be taking things so fast . . ."

"I'm not going any faster than necessary," she admitted. "Besides, we don't have to do anything crazy and stupid. We _could_ . . ." she added, another seductive whisper. "But we don't have to. Could you just please take me and kiss me before I spontaneously combust?" Her voice broke the soft, taunting allure a bit at the end. But it seemed to do the trick.

He came forward swiftly, until she was but a handsbreadth away. He stopped short, looking deep into her eyes. She felt her stomach burning again. It was annoying but endurable. And impossible to ignore.

"You are the single most . . . dangerous thing I have ever encountered," he admitted in a whisper, his hand softly touching the side of her face. Hermione stared into his green eyes, electricity forming between them.

And suddenly, she found she had done it. His hand went from her cheek to the back of her head in an instant, with a fistful of her honey-brown locks. He held her face to his passionately as he kissed her like he never had before – honestly. She knew he had wanted to kiss her like this from the moment they had _kissed_. Of course, she could understand why he didn't. But now that she wanted him to, why not?

His warm lips were desperate, frustrated. Hermione's breathing became erratic.

"This is what you want?" he asked her, his voice mute. He was thrilled, she could tell. It afforded her a deep sense of satisfaction to know that she could make him feel this way, to want her this way. To know that she was wanted and wantable.

She nodded, her lips moving with his feverishly. "Mhmmm," she gasped, crushing herself into him greedily. He suddenly redirected their position. She felt a desk beneath her, without really wanting to notice how it had happened. He was overtop of her and her heart was pounding harder than was healthy. The feeling of adrenaline coursing through her squashed every other feeling – worry, guilt, sadness, regret, sorrow, depression, confusion, frustration.

She didn't keep track of his hands, or her own for that matter. All that she could concentrate on was that the burning was being satisfied. She could feel his warm hands moving across her stomach, her back, her leg, and she just roamed around his back with her own hands, never once releasing his lips.

He finally moved to her neck, leaving her to gasp for air.

"When you left last night .. I was so close to going after you . . ." He laughed under his breath while he kissed he collar bone. Surprisingly, the bliss kept her mind from wandering toward Draco's reappearance and false claims. "You have no idea what you do to me."

Hermione truly thought she was crazy – she just couldn't get enough of him. She clutched his collar in her hands and forced his face to hers again. Her legs twined around him and he willingly moved over her, hovering so that he supported all of his weight. Hermione's mind was flooded and she knew she was drowning. There was just too much too handle. This was the only thing that helped – the closeness, the affection, the whole non-thinking process of being intimate this way, especially when the person was so willing and easily swayed.

She ran her fingers through his hair, relishing in the feeling. She never knew this type of satisfaction was so easy to obtain.

Hermione lost all track of time, and they both started when the first bell rang. Michael pulled away frantically, searching for the clock. "Is that the time?" he mumbled, astonished.

Hermione, abashed now that she could see the disarray of his shirt and hair, stood and flattened out her uniform, blushing crimson. Michael turned to look at her, chuckling.

"Well that was . . . something," he said, grinning sheepishly.

Hermione covered her face, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry," she said into her hands. "That was so stupid of me."

She didn't look up, but he came forward and wrapped his arms protectively around her. He was shaking with quiet laughter. "I wish you could be stupid more often, then." Hermione smiled despite her confusion and exhaustion.

"Ha ha," she said sourly.

"Look at me," he said sternly. He lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger. "You truly do have a power over me that I never knew possible, Hermione. When I said 'I wish', I truly do wish. All the time. You make me crazy."

He kissed her softly, making her head swim. He pulled away after a protracted moment of ease and smiled complacently at her.

"I have to go to class," she sighed, looking up at him. "And you have a class coming in any moment," she added, slightly worriedly.

He sighed, too, and released her. "You're right. But, I wish you would go back to your room, Hermione, you look absolutely exhausted. You need to sleep. Didn't you sleep well last night?"

Hermione avoided the question. "I really can't miss class. I have no duties tonight. I'll sleep right after my last class. I promise. I have to go."

He frowned but shrugged then leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Whatever you say."

"See you later on, then," she said, smiling with some effort. He waved and smiled back warmly.

The over-tiredness kept her awake all morning. She felt like she wasn't even blinking. She couldn't believe what she had done – running to Michael, just to feel some type of closeness with someone. But, she reminded herself glumly, better Michael than the alternative . . .

At lunch, she was sorely tempted to ditch the rest of the day and go to her room and take a nap. She was allowed a sick day here and there. The only thing that kept her in the Great Hall, was not seeing Draco at the Slytherin table. She was afraid to back to her dorm and see him – and afraid of what she might do in this dangerous state of mind.

"Hermione," Harry said to her scornfully, as she drank soda to keep herself going. "You look . . . sick. Is . . . is something wrong?"

"No, not really. I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night," she answered his concerns, glaring at her plate.

"Why not?"

"Dra– Malfoy came back last night," she growled. "He disappeared. I thought it was for good. But he came back last night." It was easy to seem to be so angry at him in front of her friends. There were no pretenses. Ron didn't know anything, and Harry would think she would hate him anyway - after what he did.

Harry stared, horrified. Ron just looked confused. "Why do you seem so mad?" Ron asked, chewing on some toast. Harry swallowed nervously.

"He's . . . unbearable," she admitted honestly. Not in the way they would assume, but still . . . it was true.

"What happened?" Harry asked gravely, ashen-faced. The ominous feeling he got whenever he was reminded of what he had done was stronger than ever now. And it just kept getting stronger.

She sighed. "We fought, obviously."

"And?" Harry pressed, his voice terse.

"And nothing. He yelled, I yelled, doors were slammed. The end. And what a happy ending it was," she added sardonically. Ron was lost in his food again. Her rambling didn't make sense to him.

"Hermione . . . honestly, go to the hospital wing or back to your dorm or something. You should sleep."

She scowled at him. "I'm just a little tired. I'm perfectly fine to get through the rest of the afternoon, thank you very much Harry."

"Hermione," he said, but his eyes seemed deeply troubled this time. "Are you sure you're okay?" His tone was anxious now.

She sighed and nodded, too tired to talk. Too much effort. She was too tired. She groaned in despair. Only a few more hours . . .

"Where's Ginny?" Hermione suddenly asked, looking round. She had first thought she was just late, but now lunch was almost over.

"Oh," Ron grumbled. "She said she had something important to do – for one of her classes. She needed the extra time in the library."

"Huh." Hermione let her head fall into her arms for the rest of lunch. The only plus she could think of was that she could probably avoid Draco if she was super careful – surely he would leave her alone . . . but did she want him to leave her alone?

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"Wife, make yourself useful and get us something to drink, why don't you?" Lucius snarled to Narcissa. She inclined her head and swept out of the sitting room in her long, midnight black robes.

"Now," Lucius said, addressing his guest. "I have called you here for your assistance. I cannot do this alone. Well, strictly speaking, I _could_, but I would not go by unnoticed. I need this all to be thoroughly inconspicuous. So, Zabini, I shall need yours and your son's help on this one."

Blaise Zabini's father smiled sadistically and nodded with fervour. "I am more than willing, and so will be my son. Draco has caused quite a commotion with his recent behaviour, and I wouldn't care so much if it didn't interfere with my son. For Merlin's sake, he turned his back on him! They've been friends for years. Not only that, but I've been told this has to do with Potter's Mudblood girlfriend!"

Lucius grimaced. "Indeed it does. Apparently the Mudblood's not Potter's girlfriend at all. That seems to be all the trouble. Actually, _she_ seems to be all the trouble."

"What does that mean? _Not Potter's girlfriend_?" Zabini asked with mild interest.

"It seems," Lucius fumed. "That my son has contracted some type of insanity. Surely it's a sickness that can be cured, but nonetheless, he has crossed a very dangerous line by taking a liking to this bushy-haired Mudblood."

Zabini gaped. "Your son? Why, that's absurd! I've never seen someone so opposed to or disgusted by –!"

"Yes, I know," Lucius seethed, livid. "You don't have to remind me of anything, imbecile, it is a shame that will never dissolve." He flashed a wicked grin. "Unless we do it ourselves."

Zabini eyed his friend peculiarly through narrowed eyes, slightly confused. "What exactly are you suggesting, Lucius?"

The white-haired man smiled maliciously, his eyes glinting black with evil. "Mudbloods aren't good in this world no matter where they are or what they're doing. They're dirty, useless, infectious creatures. What I'm suggesting is . . . why not take care of this . . . infestation ourselves? Starting with the girl. Why not start with someone that will grant personal gain _and_ satisfaction? After all, she does help Potter and the idiot redhead family severely often with her mediocre intellect . . .

"So, what is your answer, Zabini?"

Zanini gaped, but a smile slowly conquered his face. "I think my answer is . . . what do we do first?"

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Ginny Weasely took two deep breaths before she knocked on the big wooden door before her. Her face was red already. What would she say? How to start? This was going to be painful. She only had forty minutes to do this. A time limit, in this case, would be helpful. She could excuse herself if it got ugly, say she had to get her things for class – as if they weren't already in her bag – and prepare for a second try.

She hoped to get her point across strongly enough the first time, though.

Ginny couldn't but help to realize her meddling. But what else was there to do! Watch one of her best friends slowly fall into a depression that would rule her life for Merlin knows how long a time? Besides that, even if it did blow over eventually . . . she'd rather her friend be happy now instead of waiting for the pain to simply disappear, or for something strong enough to cover it up relatively well.

It had been two minute since she had knocked, and no reply. She was sure he was in there. Now she only had thirty-eight minutes to do this. She frowned and knocked again, this time longer, louder and harder.

She could hear movements inside. Her face began to grow warm again. How would she greet him? 'Hey old buddy, what's going on?' She grimaced at the thought.

The door swung open to reveal a tall, slim, very blonde Slytherin boy.

"Malfoy," Ginny greeted, in a determinedly nice tone of voice. She had to remind herself that he wasn't necessarily the bad guy. This time.

"Ginny Weasely?" he said dubiously, raising his eyebrows in clear surprise. Then his face fell as he drew his own conclusions. "Er, she's not . . . she's not here, Ginny."

Surprised by the friendly use of her first name, she hesitated. "I – I know that. She's in the Great Hall with my brother and Harry. Barely eating, looking God-awful. You know – all her recent behaviour."

Draco balked for a moment. "Oh. Well, then. Are you here to see me?" He shook his head, eyebrow hooked.

"Actually, I am," she said firmly, staring him straight in the eye. He stared back, taken off-guard. He took it the wrong way. Apparently he thought she was here to criticize him on Hermione's behalf. All of the kindness faded, and the bright silver in his eyes dulled to a soft grey. Ginny had never seen him like this. So open, so human, so normal.

"Look," he said irritably. "I don't know what you want, but whatever you have to say to me, she's already said it. I get it, alright? I'm horrible. I know. Who doesn't know?"

Ginny had to hesitate again. She had never known him to be so vulnerable. She took a shuddering breath. She couldn't back down now.

"That's not why I'm here," she promised earnestly. "I know you didn't hurt Hermione."

There was one long second of silence, where an unsaid note of communication passed between the two of them. She knew.

"How?" he said simply, shaking his head.

"Because, Hermione's no fool – not even for love," she tacked on. Colour filled his cheeks. She had never seen that happen before. She went on. "If she doesn't believe you hurt her, even after you supposedly admitted it, then I don't either."

"But she _does_ believe that I – that I could – do that – to her . . . even though I . . . I would never . . . _never_ . . . ." His words came out half-strangled, his eyes burning in agony.

Ginny shook her head. "She might say she does. But she doesn't. I've talked to her about it. She doesn't think you hurt her, but she's scared. She's terrified, actually, of giving in and then hurting all over again."

It was quiet for another moment. "So what are you here for? To tell me this? She won't believe me. I've tried. There's nothing more I can do, but wait."

"Listen to me Malfoy, Hermione needs to be shown the truth."

"And what's the truth? Do_ you_ know? Because I sure as hell don't know what happened," he said. He seemed so desperate for the truth that Ginny had a twinge of pity for him. She could only imagine what it would be like to be torn away from someone she loved so much – like Harry.

"We can figure it out."

He peered at her doubtfully underneath his blonde lashes. "Together?"

"Together," she confirmed. "You just made a very good friend, Draco Malfoy."

**Can't say sorry enough times for the stupid amount of time it takes me to update these days. I just have so much on my plate. But I'm getting back into this so I'm hoping the next chapter will be done by this time next week. No promises though. Okay, I hope you're still liking it. Thanks for reading and please, if you don't hate me for the long-over-due update, please REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!**


	34. Of Hermiones Secret&Ginnys Determination

**right so .. i've decided to stop apologizing, because now that school's started up again .. lol, there will probably be more holdups with the updates. but i am going to finish it, so it's just a matter of paitience. anyways, here's the next chapter, and please review :)**

Chapter thirty four – Of Hermione's Secret and Ginny's determination

"_What_ did you just call me?" Draco snapped, staring at the red head in half disbelief, half anger.

"I _said_, 'stop acting like a little girl'!" Ginny shouted, exasperated, hands on hips.

"You know, Weasely, you're getting on my last nerve," he said stiffly, clenching his wand. They were in the Head's Common Room, deep in debate, with nowhere else to meet because it wasn't as if Draco could go to the Gryffindor tower without good notice. They had been sitting a moment ago, but Draco had jumped up after Ginny's insult had hit him like a slap in the face.

She rolled her eyes to his response. "Look, Malfoy, this is going nowhere fast. You need to put a little more into it or else, by the time we come up with something good, Hermione'll be married with ten kids."

Draco raised his eyebrows, his grimace not faltering. "Ten kids, huh? Overkill, if you ask me."

"Well, I didn't," Ginny said coldly. "Now, I was _saying_, I think the first and best way to try this is to go by force. Hermione can be more stubborn than me, and that's saying a lot, so that might do the trick."

He was shaking his head before she had finished. They both took their seats again.

"No, no. No. Have you been listening, Weasely?" Draco said, staring at the ceiling. "You didn't see how mad she was at me when I came back and tried to say sor– tried to talk to her. And then she was crying and it was horrible. You think I'm just going to push through all of that and _make_ her see?"

"Well, if you have to, and it works – neither of you can complain, can you?" Ginny argued haughtily.

"I don't know . . ."

"Let's put it in the 'maybe' pile."

"Let's put it in the 'just-in-case-Malfoy-doesn't-have-a-better-plan' pile."

"Good, so that will definitely be used, then," Ginny agreed. "Now, what else can you try to do?"

"Search me."

Ginny stood up again. "Malfoy! Come _on_! You have got nothing? It's been a week!"

"What can I tell you? You're idea isn't exactly brilliant. If we can just put anything out there, how about I save you from a burning building, how'd that be? Surely she would have to like me again, then, eh? Or what if Potter or your brother jumps from the Astronomy tower and I rescue them? How's that? How can she hate me if her best friends don't?" he said in a rush, irritated. He glared at her, but she seemed deep in thought. "Did you hear me, Weasley?" he demanded.

She nodded vaguely, still thinking. "Hmm . . ."

"What? What are you _hmm_ing about?" he sneered impatiently. "_Hello_?"

"Good grief! _Shut up! _How did Hermione manage to still be the brightest witch in the school with you harping on about everything all the time? A person can hardly think when you open your mouth!" Ginny retorted bitterly. She continued before he could retaliate. "Now, what you just said . . . that might actually work, believe it or not."

"'Not'," said Malfoy. "Are you right out of your mind?"

"I don't mean literally – not everything you said . . . just the last part," she clarified. When he continued to look confused she elaborated. "'How can she hate me if he best friends don't?'" Ginny smiled triumphantly as Malfoy balked.

"Excuse me?" he said flatly. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It means . . . well, just that. If Harry and Ron don't hate your guts anymore – if they don't want to jinx you every chance they get – how can Hermione think you're a horrible prat? I mean, honestly, if _Harry_–"

"Oh, for the love of Merlin," he murmured. "You really are out of your mind. By about fifty miles. _Get chummy with Harry Potter and Ron Weasely_? That's your plan? You're not exactly raising the bar, here. Personally, the jump-from-the-tower idea sounded more plausible. At least then, I'd have the joy of pushing them from the tower."

"_Malfoy!_"

"Joking, joking!" he said, grinning. "But, seriously? You must be mad."

She sighed. "Malfoy, if you just _talk_ to Harry and Ron – one on one, I mean, it wouldn't work the other way – and maybe apologize for the more horrible things you've done over the years . . ."

"And what do I say when they think I'm insane? Huh? Tell them I – that I'm trying – tell them about Hermione and me? They'd murder me! Not that I'd be worried, honestly, but it wouldn't make Hermione in any more of a rush to want me back."

Ginny shrugged indifferently. "Fine. Be hopeless and sulky – make excuses! I don't see you coming up with anything brilliant!"

"I just can't think of anything–!"

"Oh, rack your brains Malfoy! That shouldn't take more than a few seconds! You're supposed to know Hermione, right? So use what you know to get her back!"

"A few seconds, huh?" Malfoy grumbled.

Ginny grinned. "So–"

But as she began to talk, the portrait door began to open.

"Shoot!" Malfoy said, jumping up in a panic. He ran to hide, but was caught by the collar of his shirt. He turned to look impatiently at Ginny.

"_I_ hide, not you, idiot!" she snarled in a whisper, dashing across the room and squeezing behind a bookcase.

Malfoy stared sheepishly after her. "Oh, right," he said, confused. Hermione walked in, searching through her bag.

"_Force!_" Ginny hissed to him. He shook his head at her, and she glared at him.

"Er," said Malfoy, to announce his presence. Hermione looked up and stopped dead, staring at him. "Hello."

A little pink in the face, she nodded curtly and headed towards her room. Malfoy chanced a quick look at Ginny, who was burning him with her caustic scowl. He sighed and rushed after Hermione.

"Er, Hermione?" he said. She stopped on her staircase and turned to look at him, her face frozen and guarded.

"What is it?" she asked tersely.

He suddenly realized he had no idea what to say.

"Nothing. Never mind," he muttered, turning away and walking towards the common room again. He heard her door shut just as he fell back into his seat.

"Oh, very smooth," said Ginny quietly as she came from her hiding place. "The love-master himself. How did she ever manage to turn you down so easily?"

"Oh, ha, ha," he said dryly, scowling. "It's not easy, I had no time to get ready, I didn't know how to start! Every time she looks at me, all I want to do is kiss her and I–," he stopped, rather pinker in the face than Hermione had been. "Can't," he finished, knowing the damage was done. He looked at Ginny, ready for her to laugh at him, but she seemed awed, her facial expression noticeably softer than before.

"Oh, okay, well . . . er, fine, just work on it a bit, okay? I have a Transfiguration test and Quidditch tomorrow, and then Snape's given me about five essays to do . . . so next Monday, then?"

"Yeah," he accepted. "Sounds fine."

As she walked, she hesitated, stopped and turned around. "And please, _please_ put in your best efforts, Malfoy?" her voice was still very, very low. "The Graduation Ball will be here in a few weeks and . . . and well, it would be nice for you two to go together . . . and if this hasn't been fixed before you both leave the school . . . I don't know what will happen . . ."

He did not reply, fully transfixed on ideas of dancing with Hermione in a long graduation gown. She left and Draco continued to stare at Hermione's door, wondering how he could seem so far away from her when she was right behind it.

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Wednesday and Thursday passed slowly, and though Draco dedicated a lot of thought to how he could get Hermione to change her mind, he hardly saw her. Between their now-separate Head's duties (evidently, Hermione couldn't stand to be alone with him at all anymore) and their N.E.W.T level homework, Draco's Quidditch and Hermione's . . . well, wherever she went night and day, during lunch periods and after and before classes, whenever she had that one rare spare class . . . there was usually only the two times he caught a breathtaking glimpse of her all day – before she rushed off too early in the mornings, and when she came back five minutes before curfew at night.

It wasn't difficult to _think _about storming up to Hermione, and arguing with her, telling her that he didn't help Blaise, and that he had no idea why he had said he did, and that he really did only leave because he thought she was way too good for him, and making her believe him. It wasn't hard to imagine kissing her until she obliged and agreed and had a change of heart.

But to find the convenient time and place . . . and courage, was an entirely different thing. The whole prospect was entirely oblique and often he would began to feel his head pounding in rhythm with his heart when he thought too hard about it. Sometimes Draco lay in his bed or stare at his textbooks without really reading them, and thought about what the Weasley girl had said about graduation coming so fast. It _was_ only three months away, and _what if_ he hadn't managed to get anywhere by then? Often his imagination would zoom far into the future, seeing Hermione marrying Ron Weasley or some other faceless man. He shuddered at the thought and always began to rake through all of his brain cells for a foolproof plan to win Hermione back. Nothing brilliant, however, ever struck him.

On Friday morning he ran into Ginny in one of the staircases – she on her way to the girls' bathroom, he on his way to his first class.

"Oh, hi!" she said breathlessly. "How is it–?"

"Going? Horrible," he said. Then, at the look on her face, added in a rush, "But that's not from lack of trying, mind you! I just never see her."

"What do you mean?" she asked, clearly puzzled. "I never see her at the library anymore, and she does have a 'favorite table' so it's easy to look, and she says she has too much homework to spend a lot of time with Harry, Ron and me."

"Well that doesn't make any sense," he said after a moment. "She leaves early before classes every morning, comes back five minutes before eleven and if she's never with you or in the library, then where else on earth would she . . . ."

Draco stopped talking, gazing over Ginny's head. His mouth fell open. No. It would be ridiculous to even think about it . . . all these weeks since they've been apart? No way. That wasn't possible. He wouldn't dare . . . she wouldn't allow it . . .

"Malfoy? Malfoy!" Ginny slapped his arm. "What? What's wrong? What are you on about?"

And then Malfoy's face become so contorted with rage that Ginny faltered a step backward. "What–?"

"What an idiotic, perverse, arrogant pig! How dare he! What a huge half-witted, under qualified, undeserving, cocky arse!" sneered Malfoy, his tone low and dangerous. "He thinks–? He honestly believes . . .? But, she would never . . . ever . . ." He trailed off in angry mutters. Ginny stepped towards him again.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"She's–," he began, but stopped. No. It would do no good jumping to conclusions, and it would be insanity to suggest it when there was a huge possibility he could be greatly mistaken. He hurriedly thought it through in his head, and then looked at Ginny. "Listen to me. This is very important. I don't mean to try and boss you around, but I can't do it . . . and I have to know . . . and I think it would interest you, as well . . ."

"What? What can't you do?" Ginny asked quickly.

"Tonight I have rounds for two hours . . . and then tomorrow morning I have Quidditch . . . she won't suspect me around at all, and she would never point a finger at you, either . . . I need you to follow Hermione as much as you can tonight, and all weekend for that matter. . . when we see each other on Monday, we'll talk about whatever you find out," he said instructively.

"Pardon?" Ginny said flatly. "That's not even funny, Malfoy. We've got serious business–!"

"This is serious," he said gravely. His face was still tightly held, as if one tiny twitch might set him off.

"But–? What am I supposed to find out?" she asked, slightly irritated. Ginny Weasley was not someone to be kept in the dark.

"If there's anything going on that shouldn't be – and I think there is – you'll know it right away . . . ," he said, his jaw taut and teeth clenched. He still seemed very unstable and angry. "Just, please, do it."

"Oh – okay," Ginny agreed hesitantly. The bell rang all around them, echoing in the staircase.

"Oh, _wonderful_," snarled Malfoy, clearly infuriated – if it was because he was now late or because of whatever had just happened, Ginny did not know. "McGonnagal will love this. Okay, see you."

And he traipsed off to Transfiguration, leaving Ginny standing, mystified, on the moving staircase.

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Bright and early on Saturday morning, Hermione woke and listened to the sounds of Draco readying himself for Quidditch and then the door shutting behind him as he finally headed towards the pitch for a lengthy practice. When she was sure the way was clear, she entered the bathroom, showered quickly and then dressed into her faded jeans, long-sleeved black shirt and light jacket.

She left the common room and walked through the main corridor until she came into view of the courtyard. Buttoning her jacket, she ventured outside, not sure where she was headed exactly. She knew Michael liked – and deserved – to sleep in on the weekends, so she had already resolved to ignore his invitations to come and wake him up.

Life lately seemed to be falling into an odd vagueness, the only real goal in her mind being graduation. Her marks were keeping up at least, that was one of the brighter points at the moment. It wasn't easy being near Draco, of course, all the while wanting what she shouldn't and dreaming of what would never be. She had resolved to attempting to pry him out of her life here at school as much as possible – so as to prepare herself for what would happen when they finally graduated and left. It wasn't much easier than controlling her dreams.

Hermione stopped for a moment and turned her head quickly. She could have sworn she had heard footsteps behind her. Shaking her head, she resumed her aimless stroll.

Michael was more than good enough for her, better than she was. In fact, she was hardly good enough for him, now that she thought of it. Why would she throw that away for some kind of stupid fantasy? Hermione was a logical, realistic person. She knew there was no need to get swept up in things like _forbidden love_ or anything as ridiculous. Maybe she only wanted Draco now, just because it was such a huge taboo? Maybe that had been it all along . . .

She scowled at the ground. This was where her thoughts always went whenever she was alone – or, now that she really tried to recall – whenever she wasn't with Michael. Pathetic. Yet unbearably true. Why could her brain just _not_ work for a little while? Was it that hard to forget? She thought she had been blessed with such a thorough memory, but now, however . . . there were certain things she could probably do best without remembering.

Kicking at stones as she walked, she could hear sounds and looked up. She was nearing the Quidditch pitch. Curious, and with nothing else to do but walk and walk, she quietly and obscurely entered the stadium. She found a seat where she was hardly noticeable. There were a few Slytherin supporters on the opposite side of the stadium, amongst whom Hermione recognized Pansy Parkinson, Milliscint Bullstrode and (Hermione's heart leapt into her throat) Blaise Zabini. They were sitting with another girl with long blonde hair and two more boys Hermione did not know the names of.

This was the first time Hermione had seen Blaise since January. She knew he had been in detention (only saved from expulsion by his father's questionable contacts at the Ministry) for – she guessed – almost every day, with Professor McGonnagal. She knew he was banned from the Graduation Ball in June, and that his assault on her would be on some type of record, however oblique the crime was stated, at the Ministry.

She watched him surreptitiously as he glared at the team, standing on the ground now. His expression was murderous from what she could see, though she couldn't understand why he could hate his own house team with so much passion. Pansy also looked a little less smug than usual, not that any of this mattered to Hermione in the least.

Hermione gazed down at the team, all in green and silver. She knew Draco wasn't the captain, but he still was the Seeker. As they began to mount their brooms, Hermione recalled the bet they had placed on a Slytherin versus Gryffindor match . . . a million years ago. She remembered being so angry that she shook, thinking he had cheated her out of the chance to watch him humiliate himself in front of his entire house and the whole school, and best of all, Harry, who would want to see him embarrassed more than anyone else. And then he proved her false and she had to be unpredictable and then she changed her school uniform.

And then he had fallen off of the stairs when he had seen her.

Hermione giggled to herself, but upon hearing the sound, was silent again immediately. The smile that was on her face faded as she thought about how these memories could sill make her laugh, even after everything that had happened . . .

Hermione looked up. Draco was zooming around in the air, undoubtably chasing after the Snitch. Rolling and diving and swerving, he looked very determined as he reached out his hand. She could almost feel his hand in hers, in her hair . . . it was impossible – as she had already figured out – _not_ to remember, after all. His breath against her skin was always so hot, yet it raised goosebumps on her neck . . .

Flustered, Hermione stood abruptly, wrapping her coat tighter around herself and looked away from Draco pointedly. She wended through the many benches, and then hurried down the steps. Checking the tall clock, she found it to be nearly ten thirty. Not one to usually sleep in, she was very unsure if that was considered a 'late' morning.

But she didn't really have time to _hmm_ and _haw_ about it.

She entered the school, pushing the heavy wooden doors open. She stopped and turned when she notice the absence of the _'thud_' that would have confirmed it closing behind her. However, it closed several seconds too late. She looked at it for a moment, but then shrugged and hurried on her way.

Up two flights of stairs, down one long corridor, sneaking through one of the most convenient secret passage ways Harry had shown her, up another flight of stairs, down two more corridors, hanging a left, then a right, another left two more rights . . . Hermione wasn't sure why it was so easy to get to his office when, now that she was watching her feet, was about as confusing as Ron's transfiguration essays. She walked to the familiar alcove with six doors, windows on all of them but blankness beyond.

She entered through the first on the left, as always. Again, the door seemed to take too long to close behind her, but she concluded it must be her now. The room she was in now had ten doors – the most interesting doors she had yet seen all in one room. But she ignored all the rest except one of the three wooden ones with silver doorknobs. She pulled out her wand, brandishing it in a complicated manner that Michael had shown her – a trick, he said, he used when he had lost his key once – and the lock clicked loudly, echoing in the room.

She pulled the door open. She guessed half past ten _was_ enough of a late morning – he was already there. In the corner closest to the door, only visible once she stepped inside and pulled the door closed tightly behind her. For one moment, she thought she heard movement outside the door, but when she stood still and listened for a few seconds longer, there was nothing. She shrugged, stowed her wand away and turned to face Michael, who was running his hands along the bookcase he was standing in front of.

"Morning sleepy," she said. He smiled at her.

"You honestly can't ever sleep in? You never get exhausted with all the work you do all week?" he said. She shook her head, taking off her jacket. "What time were up this morning?"

Hermione thought for a moment. What time did Quidditch practice start? She thought she knew, from years of being friends with Harry, and more recently Ron and Ginny. "Eight? Or nine, maybe? I'm not sure."

"Eight? On a _Saturday_? You're insane – brilliant, but insane," he told her, smiling crookedly. He took a book from the shelf, evidently the one he had been searching for. He walked to his desk, placed it down and then took his wand and waved it in the air. Papers came flying from the other end of the office, from a concealed file, and then laid themselves onto the desk quietly. Another swish of his wand, and Hermione assumed that they were essays being fact-checked by magic because red marks were appearing on the papers as the pages of the books turned very quickly. She raised her eyebrows.

"Is that always accurate?" she teased. He shrugged.

"I have more important things to occupy my attention," he admitted.

Then he walked forwards and caught her lips quickly and softly with his own. Hermione pulled away smiling.

"Well, if there's any real mistakes in the essays, the student should notice, I think."

"If only everyone could be like you," he joked.

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"Ginny?"

Ginny turned around, her heart fluttering madly in her chest. Harry walked into the boys' dormitories where she stood, caught like a deer in headlights.

"What are you doing in here?" Harry asked, looking bewildered and suspicious at the same time. She thought through it wildly, very carefully shifting over so she could shove the last piece of his cloak into his trunk and close it. His eyes were trained on her as he approached.

She opened her mouth to speak, her mind reeling. What could she say or do to throw off all suspicion? How did she think she could get away with his. Damn Draco Malfoy to the most fiery pits of Hades for having her agree to this stupid charade!

But then an idea struck her – embarrassing, slightly, but believable . . . she hoped so.

She smiled up at him. It wouldn't be entirely impossible. They were practically dating now – even Ron had accepted it, even though no one had really verbalized it yet.

Ginny stood on her toes, and still not quite reaching, grabbed his face and pulled it down to hers so she could kiss him properly.

"I couldn't find you, I thought you might be up here alone – I know Lavender dragged Ron off to the grounds for a walk . . . and I saw Neville, Dean and Seamus at the library . . ."

It worked. It fitted. Harry would not investigate, and she knew it as soon as he kissed her back.

But even though Harry's kiss could usually distract her from anything, there was still the small part of her brain working frantically, wondering what on earth Hermione had been doing behind that stupid door with the stupid Imperturbable Charm on it (Fred and George really should add some kind of clever charm of their own onto the Extendable Ears, something that could break any other charms that blocked sound, Ginny thought irritably.) She had just wasted hours hearing nothing and seeing nothing, sure of absolutely one thing and one thing only – Malfoy had been right; there was definitely something going on that shouldn't be.

The last thought of Hermione and her secret that fluttered through Ginny's mind was this: _I am going to find out what's going on, no matter what._ And then Harry bent double and swooped her in his arms as his lips parted her own and she lost track of her thoughts.


	35. Of Steps Forward &Steps Back

Chapter thirty five – Of Steps Forward and Steps Back

Draco tried to be patient with Ginny, but it was hard. It was Tuesday and all of her attempts at tailing Hermione had been in vain. There was always a door she couldn't get through without being noticed, always a group of kids in the way, a class she had to attend . . . Draco could admit that it was hardly her fault – how could she control such things? But the point was, they weren't getting any closer to learning the truth.

"Maybe that's what you should do," Ginny said, staring into the fire, on Tuesday evening. "Try to coax it out of her – like confide in you, or whatever. That would be kind of a bonding thing, get you two closer again, right?"

Malfoy shook his head, not in protest, but defeat. "That wouldn't work, trust me."

"Why not?" Ginny demanded, sitting up straighter.

"Because, this was happening before, too, and when I asked about it . . . it didn't go well. And now that she hates my guts even worse, how do you think that it will help the situation any?" Malfoy asked, remembering briefly the way his jealously had prompted him to kiss Hermione. Now, the thought of it made his stomach turn. It had been weeks that she had been sneaking off . . . what now, did he have to be jealous of?

"Happening before?" Ginny repeated blankly. "Wait, so . . . do you have any idea of what it could be, then?"

Draco turned his head an inch, and his hand rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. There hadn't been any real conviction in Ginny's question when she had asked it, but now she came to the edge of her seat, her eyes popping open.

"You do! You do, too, know!" she exclaimed. "Why the hell am I following her around then, if you knew all this time?"

"I don't know for sure!" Draco amended. "Calm down."

"Tell me right now!" she ordered fiercely. "I'm here, trying to help you, and you're keeping things from me!"

He groaned. This was something he did not want to discuss. Telling one of Hermione's closest friends suspicions that were probably very true was not something he had ever intended to do. Having Ginny see it, and find out for herself was one thing – that way she could only be angry or upset with Hermione or the wretched, stupid, disgusting . . . Well, either way, she couldn't be angry with him – a sort of 'don't shoot the messenger' type of situation.

And to top it all off, Ginny actually _had_ helped him out a great deal. First off, she had dragged him out of the depressed rut in which he had buried himself in. Next, she had opened his eyes to the dangerously suspicious disappearances of Hermione.

Not only that, but they had been discussing the terrible events of that New Year's Eve together, trying to untangle the complicated pattern of lies and misunderstandings that had sprung out of nowhere and exploded in Draco's face. Not that they had done much but sort out the order of events, what had been said and who had done what (supposedly), but still, it was a good start.

Draco looked at Ginny. Her eyes were narrowed, shrewd, and almost as fiery as her hair. He sighed and sat back.

"I can't," he said. He would not be the one to make someone think ill of Hermione. He had done that enough in the past without justifiable reasons. And now that he . . . well, to be plain with himself, he knew that he was still madly and hopelessly in love with the girl. He could never speak against her again. Love was his greatest weakness, and also his greatest strength. It gave him the reason to get through each day, but also tore him down every moment he thought of her.

"You know what? I don't know why I ever wanted to help you," Ginny said in a low, dangerous voice. "I am not going to sit here and try and try and try . . . while you won't even tell me what you know! Listen, if I can try and get along with you then the least you can do is open your mouth and –!"

"I _can't_!" he shouted abruptly. "Sorry. I – I just can't. That's that. If you don't want to help me any longer, that's your decision, but I'm not going to give up."

Ginny barred her teeth in raging frustration. "Why can't you tell me?"

He shook his head. "It's irrational. I just can't tell you . . . you need to find out for yourself, Ginny, trust me."

"Trust you?" she asked incredulously. "Right. Well, then. I'm leaving. Maybe you did try and hurt Hermione, maybe I was wrong about you–"

"Hey!" Draco said, standing swiftly. Ginny had already stood and was walking towards the door. "Don't you accuse me of–!"

"Of what? Of something you admitted and 'just don't understand why'? Oh, please. What a stupid story. Why did I think I could ever help you? You won't even help me help you. You won't even help yourself. This is going nowhere. Just like you. Have a nice life, Malfoy."

"_Ginny wait!_" Draco shouted. But she had already disappeared behind the door. It shut with a loud bang and Draco was left alone once again. He fell back into the couch and growled angrily at nothing in particular. This was a disaster.

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Hermione sighed and closed the thick, heavy book encrusted with dust in front of her. She heaved it into her arms and slid it back onto the shelf where she had found it. Rolling up her parchments and tucking them away neatly, she swung her bag over her shoulder and stretched. She had finished her homework for the week – now the next few days could be devoted to pure relaxation, besides her Head's Duties, that is.

She walked quickly from the library, heading down the familiar maze of corridors that would lead her to her destination. It had become sort of like an easy lifestyle to her now. Classes, homework, Head's Duties, and spending time with Michael (not always in that order, of course). And also . . . she didn't really like to count the hours that quickly added up, hours where she did nothing but think of a pale, blonde boy with icy silver eyes.

It hadn't gotten any better – the feeling that burned her every now and then, when she knew that it was far from impossible to get to him if she wanted. To sidetrack herself, as she always did now, she went and spent time with Michael instead. Again and again, she would tell herself it didn't count as a rebound or a second place when she actually did care for him, but again and again . . . the guilt would crash down on her like a heavy wave from the ocean.

But how else was she supposed to deal with the dangerously unbalanced amount of stress and pain in her life at the moment? Was she supposed to just let herself go completely – crawl back to Draco and let herself want him again? When she knew what the outcome could be? When she knew the pain that would stab her when it all came to another abrupt end?

No, Hermione knew better than to cave.

But, she asked herself, how was it she did not know better than to use Michael the way she so often did lately?

She bit her lip in thought. It wasn't as if she didn't enjoy it – the fact was, though it might not be the best, it was very, very good. The warmth from his lips could spread through her body so quickly that she was almost sweating with the heat. He gave her butterflies. He made her smile and laugh. He could share intellect with her, teach her, and have smooth, flowing conversations for hours at a time. They could spend time together and it would never feel awkward or strained.

Hermione had to remind herself how much older than her he was. It wasn't much, but it was enough for her to know that he had had experiences with relationships before this one. It was only adolescents that felt so determinedly awkward during a serious relationship. Sometimes the awkwardness wasn't even so bad . . . sometimes it was funny, sometimes it was a good challenge . . . scary firsts that weren't just scary, but exciting . . .

Hermione shook her head. Sure, he could be more relaxed because he was more confident and experienced, and sure she could just be feeding off from that – but where was the harm?

Hermione bit her lip again, harder this time. There was a lot of harm being done – she knew that already. It wasn't just to herself, her heart, her mind, to Michael and his own . . . but to the very strict and reasonable rules she should be abiding by. Rules that said it was so highly inappropriate to have a relationship stronger than strictly formidable with a teacher. Rules that said if one was underage, and the other overage . . . it was considered all types of bad things. Aspects that she hadn't considered until lately, too, now presented themselves. What about her parents? This would hurt them and disgust them – Hermione didn't want to think which emotion would be stronger. Either way, it would hurt if they found out.

And, in terms of people finding out and people getting hurt . . .

Harry, Ron, Ginny. Mrs and Mr Weasley. Hagrid. Professor McGonnagal. _Professor Dumbledore. _Hermione felt her stomach plunge uncomfortably, her insides swirling around, her face warming with worry.

She had been so occupied with being so daring and different, so impulsive, so carefree . . . she had almost forgotten completely who she was.

These were the thoughts she had mulled over while doing her homework tonight.

Following the same steps she always did – sneaking through the passageway, stairs, corridor, right, left, two more rights . . . – she felt her thoughts becoming stronger. They pulsed inside of her, like a monster trying to break free – the truth.

Walking slower now, Hermione realized she was at Michael's classroom already – he was staying late to mark a pile of essays that should have been marked two days ago. Hermione blushed a brilliant magenta when she thought of what his distraction had been . . .

Another thing that warmed her neck and face rapidly these days, was the progressiveness of their relationship. They had gone from sweet, lingering kisses (the kind that got her adrenaline pumping), to deeper, more passionate, with lack of a better word, _snogging_ (the kind that got her heart racing), and more recently, with all of the burning . . . there was the kisses that weren't just kisses in the least – but far, far more physical.

Hermione didn't like to think of it that way though – because it was hard to stop it once it started. She never realized exactly how intimate they got until they broke apart. She wondered if it was like that for him, too – if it was just a blur of burning passion – or if he was aware of every move he made, every kiss he gave. She wasn't sure how she felt about the latter. It kind of made her feel . . . manipulated.

But that wouldn't be the case. It was all her fault, anyway. She was the one who had started it – all of her desperate attempts to do whatever it took to banish Draco from her mind, her dreams . . . though, she could hardly help that.

Her thoughts ripping her head in two, she knocked on the door with a resigned sigh.

"Come in."

She entered and approached him at the head of the classroom. She found it hard sometimes, to think that months ago he had first walked through the door and she had given him a disparaging look. That she had disliked him. That she had been fighting with Draco and also fighting an incomprehensible attraction to him at the same time . . .

"Hermione?" Michael said unsurely.

"Sorry?"

"I asked how you were," he said. "Are you alright? You look a little pale."

"Yes, I'm fine," she lied smoothly. She perched herself up on a desk and stared at her dangling feet. "Almost finished?"

"Yes, just about," he confirmed. They sat in silence for a few minutes while he finished his marking and stacked the papers away. Hermione felt herself getting panicked.

It had been on her mind ever since this had even started. It was inevitable, but she felt so bad, so guilty, nervous, awkward – overall, terrible really. She liked Michael. But this had gone way too far. For crying out loud, it sounded ridiculous even in her thoughts!

_I am dating Michael Dolop. Michael Dolop is a professor_. _ I am dating a professor._

It almost made her physically sick to think about it and what would happen – should happen – if anyone found out. She was risking her entire reputation and future with a man that she should have just been friends with. Or maybe not even that. Professor and student – that would have been far more appropriate. After all, she considered herself friends with most of her other professors, and never would have gone to their office for tea. In fact, if one of her other professors had come up on her in the hallway in tears, she doubted if any of them would do more than ask if she was alright and send her on her way, not ask her back to their office for tea . . .

She wondered suddenly if she had really even started this at all. Sure, she had acknowledged Michael's good looks, and that had manifested into her immature crush. But what if it had started before that? With a professor who had an inappropriate crush on a student and did his very best to subtly see what would happen if he advanced and acted upon his feelings?

Hermione suddenly felt very uncomfortable sitting in the room. How had it never occurred to her before that this might have all been Michael's doing? His desire from the start . . .

Had he not been the first one to actually kiss her? Had he not approached her at the ball? Sure, she had blurted out something about her crush once in the library . . . but a professor should ignore and disregard such things, not become intrigued by them . . .

Was Michael really the wonderful person she saw him to be? Or was he nothing but an impressionable and wavering man with good looks and a brain that was good for nothing but school teaching?

Hermione bit her lip and stood. She could not deal with this right now. She needed time to think.

Michael looked up. He was just standing, having finished organizing his paperwork. "Hermione?"

"I think I'm too tired for tea tonight . . I think I'm just going to turn in . . . I don't need the caffeine, sorry," she said quickly, rambling. How could she suddenly feel so out of place in this room?

"Well, I'll walk you to your dorm and be on my way, then," he offered, seeming very gentlemanly.

"Okay," Hermione agreed, attempting to do so without any visible signs of disappointment. After all, how was he to understand her sudden mood swing?

"So, how was your night?" he asked casually, as they walked side-by-side down the empty corridor.

"Fine, good, got lots of homework done," she said. "And yours?"

"Oh, boring mostly. Grading papers isn't that great unless you have perfect patience. I'm still working on it," he said, and he laughed. Hermione forced out a nervous, reluctant laugh also.

His walk become noticeably slower as they went on and talked about miscellaneous issues. Hermione tried to speed up, but it was hard not to make it so pronounced. All she wanted was to get to her room and think . . . decide what to do . . . how to go about it . . .

They finally came upon the corridor that would lead them to her door. She sighed. Why was he taking so long?

"Something wrong?" he asked her suddenly.

"Er, no," she said, too quickly. He smiled.

"You know, Hermione . . ." he said slowly, quietly. They were just ten feet from the door now. "These passed few weeks have been . . . mad. I simply can't believe it at all sometimes."

Hermione didn't know what he was getting to, so all she said was, "Right. Yes."

And then he stopped completely, and of course, she had to as well. He turned to face her, so she turned her back to the wall and faced him, too. His eyes were suddenly intense, enigmatic. He placed his hand on the side of her face slowly. Apparently he was trying to make this a special moment, but Hermione couldn't seem to be emerged in it the way he could usually make her. All she could think of was going to bed and thinking long and hard . . . finding the right words . . . she knew she couldn't do it now . . . it would be too hard, too complicated, even for her to understand, and this needed to be done quite exactly to be done effectively . . .

"Hermione," he breathed. And she stared at him, terrified. She couldn't do this right now. "I know what this is, really, and how complicated it can get . . . and how, if, well . . . how to others it could seem very, well, quite wrong . . . but I can't help thinking about you all the time . . ."

She didn't answer. She had no idea what to say not to lead him on, and no idea how to make him back off without seeming too blunt or mean . . .

"I know that things have been moving fast between us," he admitted his voice still soft and nearly silent. His eyes were burning into hers. She couldn't quite read them, though it made her nervous.

"But . . ." he went on. "I can't help that, either." He grinned sheepishly. "Like I said, I am always thinking about you . . . and lately, I just . . ."

Hermione's heart suddenly broke into a sprint. She thought she knew where he may be going with this now. He leaned down to her face and kissed her. Her breathing became quick and shallow, but not from excitement – from fear, anxiety, discomfort. He wouldn't . . . really . . . think . . . that she . . . would . . .

Her thoughts couldn't even come smoothly. She felt like a wreck.

And then she definitely knew where he was trying to get with this speech . . .

He backed her into the wall very quickly and then the kiss deepened without time to comprehend anything. His hands were in her hair tightly. Hermione's were still at her side, pressed against the wall. She was in shock. She had never felt this nervous or uncomfortable in her life. He had only just kissed her less than a minute ago, but it felt like an hour.

One of his hands left her hair and traveled down her neck, her shoulder, down her rib cage, and then finally to the outside of her thigh. Hermione thought her heart may have stopped for second.

He pulled her thigh up and hooked it around his waist. Hermione felt like her whole body had one giant, burning pulse. It was almost as if he didn't notice that she was hardly participating in what he thought must be a very romantic, intense moment. The palm of her hands were still pressed against the wall.

His other hand left her hair and traveled to her waist, above her skirt. Slowly, he untucked her shirt and placed his hand on the burning skin of her back. He paused for a few seconds, and then his hand began rubbing her back. It was just on her ribs when Hermione became hyper-aware that they were in the corridor and not in a private office. Somehow it seemed doubly as wrong when she was so out in the open, exposed, like he thought they were a normal couple or something . . .

The hand on her thigh began to move upwards as well. It had just passed the hem of her skirt when Hermione's mind seemed to finally kick into gear. This. Was. So. Wrong. What was she _doing_?

Hermione unstuck her hands from the wall and placed them on his shoulders. She pushed lightly, and pulled her head back and to the side. But he merely began to kiss her neck. Hermione felt hot with guilt, embarrassed, shameful. But he wouldn't pull away.

Hermione yanked her leg down and grabbed his wrist. She wrenched it from under her shirt and then shoved him away from her violently.

"_Stop!_" she said. Her eyes, surprisingly, were filled with tears not because of sadness, but because of anger and embarrassment. She turned on her heel and ran the remaining ten feet to the door. She huffed the password through tears and breathlessness and the portrait swung open.

"Wait!" Michael said, stepping forward. Evidently, he was the one in shock now.

Hermione turned. She held up her hand, palm out, to deter him from coming closer or speaking. It was shaking. "No," her voice broke. "G-go away, please."

And then she shut the door behind her. Her body still felt like it was pounding. She slid down onto the floor and tried to calm herself down. She really hoped he had left. It would just about send her into hysterics if he came to the door tonight.

Several things began flying through her mind at once, before she could even stand.

First, she would never, ever be comfortable being that physical with Michael. Their kisses were intimate at times, but they were still only kisses. Anything else seemed completely outrageous and she couldn't help but to cringe at the thought of it. She supposed it had been the comfort, physically, that allowed her to enjoy the kissing. He made her feel wanted. Everyone needed that.

Second, she was _angry_ with Michael for thinking he could do that without any warning. How dare he?

Next, she now knew one hundred percent that she must end things with him once and for all the very next time they met up.

Hermione let those decisions sink in for a moment, thinking them through, repeating them mutely to herself. She was still breathing deeply.

And then finally, she pushed herself up into a standing position. She walked over to the kitchen table and leaned against the chair for a moment.

No longer would she be with Michael. She would never kiss him again. Surprisingly, the thought relieved her so much she almost smiled. How much of a terrible person was she? Maybe she hadn't started the 'relationship', but had she not participated? And quite actively, too?

But wait, she thought a second later, had he not just tried to . . . well, she knew what he had just tried to do. That was so far past the line, even in _their_ relationship, that she still felt increasingly embarrassed, enraged, and ashamed to even think about it.

After all, she had only ever done that once in her life . . .

Once again, she found herself thinking about Draco.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes. Her head was so full. She didn't want to _think_ anymore. She always over-thought everything. It had landed her in this mess.

She remembered the way she had used to not think when she was with Draco. The way things just happened. And afterwards, she didn't feel like _this_. She felt . . . happy. More complete, somehow. The way their demeanor towards each other had slowly changed and become so much more meaningful and intense was a good thing in her life.

She didn't regret a moment of it, if she wanted to be honest with herself.

And, as she sighed and opened her eyes, she decided that once and for all, Draco _did not_ try and hurt her that wretched night. His confession was absurd and impossible . . . and yes, it was a confession. But love was irrational, as she had known for quite some time now, and the more she realized she loved the blonde boy still, the less she cared about that stupid _confession_ . . . In face, the more she realized she still loved him, the more she realized that he was probably in his room . . .

She turned around and looked at his door. So long since she had _wanted_ to see him and actually had the nerve to . . . so long since she had admitted to herself that he owned her heart.

So long that she had been denying herself what she really wanted, and needed . . . something she could have had . . .

Who cared about the stupid fight? He had tried to apologize, right? He had tried to talk to her, right?

Her heart began speeding up the more she stared at his door. She took slow steps towards it. She knew he was in there . . . all she had to do was knock. He would be standing in front of her . . .

Butterflies erupted in her stomach as she took the last few steps. She felt strangely dizzy, light-headed, giddy. Her insides burned, and not only with excitement . . .

She raised her hand to the door, and then softly knocked twice. She let her hand slowly fall to her side. She swallowed nervously. She felt all the weeks of avoided feelings building up inside her. She had never felt this way before. Hermione actually felt a surge of need go through her body.

The door opened then.

His hair was disheveled. He wore his jeans and a black jumper. His silver eyes were wide as they met her chocolate brown ones.

"Hermione . . .?" he said slowly, quietly.

For a single moment, they just stared at each other. Draco felt fire blaze inside him as he stared deeply at the beautiful girl he loved, standing in his doorway, with a strange look of intensity in her eyes . . .

"Hey," Hermione breathed.

She stepped forward and took his face into her hands. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead she covered it with her own.


	36. Of Force

Chapter thirty-six – Of Force

They backed into the room, Hermione's kiss passionate and demanding. Both their breathing was shallow, and quick-paced. Draco felt dazed. Everything seemed surreal, dreamlike.

Hermione parted his lips with her tongue, and gasped when he obliged. He was as skillful a kisser as ever. He bit her lower lip, and massaged her tongue with his own. Hermione felt goosebumps rise on her skin, hairs rise on the back of her neck. He was what she wanted, what she needed . . .

How could she have denied herself this for so long . .. . when it felt so _right_ . . .

His hands softly gripped her honey-brown locks, and then slowly traveled to the small of her back. He held his hands there delicately. They were nearly shaking.

But, as sweet as his tender touch was, and as much as it made her feel what she had felt for him for so long, Hermione needed a rough, demanding, immediate relief to her long-overdue midnight ambush.

She let her hands slide down his chest to the hem of his jumper and tugged it upwards. His lips stopped moving. Apparently he was shocked by her incentive.

But Hermione didn't miss a beat. When his lips ceased their dextrous and arousing movements, she pulled her head back for a moment and pulled the jumper up again. This time he obliged after slight hesitation. He raised his arms and she peeled it from his pale skin.

His chest was a beautiful, provoking sight. She crashed her lips onto his the second the jumper was clear of his face. He answered with more eagerness this time.

Hermione placed one hand on the back of his head – she couldn't believe how much she loved the feel of his hair – and the other just on his ribs below his underarm (she also couldn't believe how amazing the sensation of his skin in contact with hers was, too).

Draco, in one swift movement, removed her tie and let it fall to the ground. He then, starting from the bottom, undid the bottons of her blouse quickly. Hermione, feeling that nothing could move fast enough and that she just couldn't get close enough to him, crushed herself into him greedily.

They backed up further in a crooked path and ended by bumping into his dresser. Some things clattered to the ground, but they paid no mind.

Their lips parted, and they gathered breath. Draco left a trail of kisses down Hermione's neck, now feeling the urgency that she was feeling. Hermione moaned and his heart skipped a beat. How long had it been since they had kissed? Since she had been this close . . . ? His insides were burning again.

"Hermione . . ." he whispered, his lips by her ear. He sucked on her earlobe for a moment. She held him tighter and arched her back.

"Hmmmm," she sighed, her lips on his again.

Hermione flicked her shoes off, one by one, and Draco heard them hit the floor. He quickly stepped out of his own, too. He couldn't believe this was happening. He couldn't understand it. He loved her, he wanted her, and he couldn't believe that she was here now, in his arms like this.

Draco placed his hands on her waist and, using his body pressed against hers as leverage, lifted her so that she was perched on top of his dresser. She gasped and kissed him harder than before. It drove him crazier to see how much she liked it.

She wrapped her legs around him and began to move her hips against his. Draco slid his hands beneath her blouse. It was open, revealing her bra and beautiful skin. He slid his hands around her stomach to her back and held her against him.

Hermione then released him, and though it was difficult, it wasn't impossible to reach between them to his jeans. Hurriedly, hands nearly shaking, she undid the belt and pulled it apart. Draco's heart was hammering a hole in his chest.

Hermione opened the button and then undid the zipper.

And Draco's head spun.

As much as he loved this girl, and as much as he wanted this – and apparently, she did, too – he suddenly realized that this might not be such a good idea . . .

They hadn't really spoken in . . . how long was it? Weeks? The last time they had really spoken was a horrible fight . . . and Draco still didn't know why he had confessed to those horrible acts . . . nothing was where it should be . . . nothing was really fixed . . .

He was very, very grateful that Hermione had decided to overlook all of the mess and come to him . . . but didn't she deserve better than all of this? Didn't she, too, deserve to understand what had happened? And then they could be together and never have to wonder about it . . . never have that stupid doubt in their minds . . . Draco could reassure her, she could believe him . . .

Draco couldn't believe this. He released her lips, breathing heavily, and reached down and grabbed her wrists lightly.

"Hermione . . ." he said softly.

"Mm?" she answered, kissing him again.

He turned his head. "Hermione." She kissed his neck. "Hermione . .. Hermione . . .. stop."

She pulled her head back and stared at him.

"What?" she said blankly.

He looked at the ground. He shook his head softly. He removed his hands from her. The same time he took a swift step backward, she slipped off of the dresser.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly, his heart still hammering. He hated that he had stopped, but at the same time knew how much he would regret it if he had kept on going and just ignored everything else but his primal instincts and most primitive needs.

Hermione's head was also raging, again throbbing, tearing in two. Hadn't this been the exact thing she had not wanted to do? Come crawling back? Knowing how much it would hurt afterwards? One minute she could feel nothing but bliss for this boy, and the next she would realize how stupid she was . . . why did she do this? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

"I don't know. Sorry. It was a mistake," she said quickly, not meeting his eyes now. She did up the most vital buttons on her blouse and turned towards the bathroom door.

Draco hesitated a moment. He could not let her walk in here, and then just walk out. He couldn't let her walk away anymore. He was done accepting. It was time to fight.

He stepped forward once again and grabbed her wrist. She turned, abruptly furious from embarrassment and ripped her hand from his.

"Don't–," she began, but he cut across her.

"No, you don't," he said, also angry. She couldn't just come in here and kiss him like that, like she loved him, like she forgave him, and then walk out when all he was trying to do was the _right_ thing. "You came up here. You knocked on my door. You can't just turn around and leave like this. We're talking. Now."

"Don't order me around!" she huffed. "Yes, I did come up here, and I already said it was a mistake!"

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but didn't want to do so without thinking for a moment first. He didn't want to blurt out anything and make things worse. He closed his mouth, turned around and took in a deep breath.

"All I'm trying to do is talk, here. You're the one who kissed me."

Hermione was silent for a moment. "Talk. About. What," she said through her teeth, still angry.

Draco thought it through quickly. She could decide to turn and leave at any moment. The most vital issues should be dealt with first.

"How about your latest gentleman caller."

Draco turned back around to face her, just in time to see her mouth fall open. For the first time since she had come to the door, he saw the dried tears on her face.

"What?" she breathed. He couldn't know. How? It was impossible . . .

"You heard me. Please don't play dumb. It's a question. What the hell is going on, Hermione? You won't even speak to me and you'll let that stupid monstrous pig take advantage of you? You must know how wrong that is."

Hermione stared at him. Of course she knew. That's why she had decided to end it. That's what had driven her to see that she wanted Draco . . . that's why she had come up here . . .

"Don't criticize me like that . . ." she said, shaking her head and looking down. She was ashamed, yes, he could see that. But she wouldn't stand for him to chastise her for things when he had hated and disregarded her for the last six years. She had credit to call on. He wasn't exactly perfect.

"I'm not criticizing you. I'm asking why the hell you would do such a thing," he corrected. "You're Hermione, and you can deny it all you want, but I know you. You wouldn't do that. Whatever drove you to such lengths is beyond me."

"Is it?" she said quietly, looking back up at him. She grimaced, shameful visions flashing through her memory. She wasn't proud of it, but she never would have done it had she not needed some love and comfort and assurance.

Draco processed that for a moment. "Because of me?" he said, disgusted. "Don't say that. I would have allowed it to happen had I known! You can't blame me for this! That's the last thing on earth I would ever want! – to hand you to another guy when I'm standing right here!"

"And what does that mean?" Hermione said, affronted.

"What do you think! I've been trying to talk to you for weeks! Trying to figure out how to apologize to you, figure things out, and I find out you've just . . . decided to . . . with that stupid git!?"

"What are you saying? – you still care about me?" she said sardonically.

"Don't pretend like you don't believe it," he said sourly. "Just stop pretending."

"Excuse me?"

"Hermione," he said firmly. "When I opened the door to you, that was the first real glimpse of you I've seen in weeks. I don't know what you're trying to hide, but it's not working."

Hermione glared at him. "I really don't know what to think anymore. How to act. What to do. What to say. You want to see some truth? Some honesty? I don't know what happened with you and that stupid confession . . . when you told me it was better if we never were or weren't together or whatever nonsense you told me . . . when you walked away from me . . . Truth is, I think I'm an idiot for thinking that you're a good person beneath all of that. I think I'm stupid for trying to see through that wall of lies and deceit and years of torture and arguing and looking at . . . what? Did I imagine it all? Were you lying? How am I supposed to really know? I have six years against you, three best friends, and most recently, you walking out of my life like you were never important. And for you, I only have my stupid gut. Instinct.

"I don't know how to think or say or feel about this. All I know is, if I keep letting myself cave to instinct, I keep getting crushed to pieces. I can't keep getting broken apart like that. It's just not worth it at the end, when I don't end up with anything but a lesson learned."

As much as her words sliced into him like knives, he wouldn't waste time. He could think about that later.

"That doesn't answer my question. What about _him_."

Hermione took a deep breath, and looked away again. Shameful. Embarrassing.

"Why do you even care?"

They just looked at each other. His eyes demanded an answer. She didn't know why she felt compelled to oblige, but something pushed the words out of her mouth.

"There's no _him_. Nothing. Not anymore."

He balked for a moment. Not anymore? That's not exactly what he had wanted to hear . . . but, it was better than his worst fear.

"Happy now?" she sneered. "Can I leave?"

"No you cannot bloody _leave_!" he snarled under his breath. "Hermione, you are going to listen to me, listen to reason. I am here, standing here, have been standing here. For you. Waiting. Hoping. And trying. You can keep denying and denying and ignoring and wasting time, but that doesn't change why I am still here, and what I feel. Sorry, you don't have that power."

"What you feel? And what is that, exactly?" she said bitterly.

"Do I need to spell it out for you?" he retorted, equally as bitter. "Dammit, Hermione, how can you stand there and pretend like you don't love me, too?"

"Because it's not true," she said quietly, unnerved. She looked down again.

"I know you're lying. You're a horrible liar, remember? I told you I know you better than anyone. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't love me. That you don't want to be with me." He paused. "The Hermione I know doesn't kiss like that without any feelings behind it. Your just not the type."

She looked up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. "Too bad you left, isn't it?" she said quietly. She looked down and shook her head. "It's too late, Draco. Things aren't the same."

"So? Change is good."

"Stop."

"No."

"Just give up, I'm done playing games with you."

"Because you know I'll win."

"Then I forfeit."

"You're no quitter."

They stared intensely at each other, a smirk playing at the edges of Draco's lips. Hermione looked unsure.

"Goodbye, Draco," she said suddenly, and turned around to leave. She pushed the bathroom door open, but once again Draco grabbed her wrist and spun her around.

He kissed her. Force. That's all he had left.

She pushed him away and turned back around, tears streaming down her face. "I can't do this anymore!" she said through sobs. Her door closed behind her.

Draco stared after her. He smirked, happy for the first time in weeks.

She had kissed him back. She still wanted him. She still cared. She still loved him. There was only the matter of figuring out the rest of the puzzle . . .

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Ginny slammed the portrait behind her, seething. How dare Draco Malfoy hide things from her? When she was trying to _help _the stupid prat? Why she ever believed his ridiculous story . . . was beyond her now. She couldn't understand how she had let herself get sucked into this mess. She felt like an idiot now.

Sure, it was clear that Hermione still wanted the Ferret, but why? Ginny hadn't a clue. Ginny realized that she _had_ witnessed a side of him unknown to her, and probably all but Hermione, previously. She had heard him say things like 'love' and 'kiss'. She had seen his eyes get soft. She had seen him stutter in Hermione's presence.

Ginny growled, flipped out the invisibility cloak and draping it around her. She sighed.

So, she guessed she would torture him for a few days, and then if his apology was good enough, she would get back into it. She just needed a break from talking to him. After five years of silence and animosity towards one another, it was a dangerous overload to start being civil now.

Ginny walked towards the Gryffindor tower, thinking about Hermione, about Malfoy. She really did wonder how they had fallen so hard for each other. They had _hated_ each other. Ginny was kind of looking forward to getting them together again, and then maybe Hermione could tell her the whole story with all the details . . .

Harry and Ron would be going berserk about it, of course . . .

Ginny then remembered that Harry had known about this before her. She should ask him about it, about what happened, what he had done about it. After all, he and Malfoy were like sworn enemies since day one of Hogwarts. Harry had probably busted a vein over this.

Ginny wondered how he had kept it a secret? Maybe he had just decided not to mention it to anyone once he saw that they were over, after that stupid New Year's party and Malfoy's idiotic confession . . . hm.

Ginny now decided that she was going to talk to Harry about this. Maybe he would know something that could help her get them back together . . . of course, she wouldn't _tell_ him that he was helping, she would just make sure he told her everything he knew.

Ginny had just turned a corner and felt in her robes subconsciously that her wand wasn't where it should've been. Ginny quickly reached inside her robes, panicked, and realized that it wasn't there. She sighed angrily. She had left it on the table in Malfoy's common room.

She stood for a moment, deciding whether or not it was safe to break curfew further. She could just get up super early and go and get it . . . But then Harry or Ron or someone might see her. And she did have the invisibility cloak at the moment . . .

She set back on her way, muttering angrily to herself. She had stormed out perfectly, and now she had to go back and ask for her wand. Horribly awkward. She couldn't pretend she was so angry with him anymore. So much for the few days of torture.

Walking down the corridor, she saw two figures ahead of her.

One was Hermione.

Who was the other?

It was a boy. Very tall. They were talking in low voices to one another. Ginny followed quietly, and tried to speed up without making any noise with her feet. It was hard.

Who _was_ that? She had never seen him in classes before . . . but how did he then look familiar? She couldn't see his face properly through the shadows. Hermione's figure was easily recognizable to her hair.

As the two rounded a corner, light shining in from a window hit them for a moment and Ginny stopped dead in her tracks, her mind reeling.

Professor Dolop?

Why were they walking together so late at night? Ginny quirked her brow. It was probably just Hermione being extra inquisitive about an assignment or something. Leave it to Hermione to be almost late for her curfew because of homework.

But still . . . something seemed off . . .

Ginny stood for several seconds before she hurried to follow them again. She finally caught up to the corner, and when she rounded it, nearly shrieked.

Professor Dolop slammed Hermione into the wall, his mouth ravaging hers.

Ginny's mouth fell open, and she reached for her wand subconsciously. It wasn't there, she remembered.

She stared, frozen, her heart beating a bruise inside of her. What? What was going on? She didn't understand. All she could do was stare.

She saw Hermione's hands against the wall, saw her reluctant expression, and wondered why she didn't push the creep away . . .

Professor Dolop grabbed Hermione's leg and Ginny took an offensive step forward. She didn't care that she shouldn't be here. _They_ shouldn't be _there_ either. _He_ shouldn't be doing _that_ either.

Ginny saw Hermione pull her face back, and swallowed hard. He wasn't stopping. Hermione looked dangerously upset. Ginny took another shaky step forward. This was so surreal.

And then, suddenly, Hermione shoved him away and cried, "Stop!"

She ran to her door, sobbed the password and the portrait swung open.

"Wait!" Professor Dolop called, taking a step forward. He halted when Hermione held up her hand.

"No. G-go away, please."

The portrait door shut. Ginny froze, glaring at Professor Dolop.

So this is what Malfoy had been afraid of. Well, he was right to be afraid. Dolop was a pig. Stupid. Perverted. Arse.

Dolop stood there for a moment, staring at the door. He then slowly turned and began walking towards Ginny. His face was angry. He was muttering to himself. Swearing. Ginny pressed herself against the wall as he passed. She had never seen him so mad. He looked vicious, dangerous. Ginny suddenly felt afraid to be close to him. She felt afraid for Hermione, even though she was safely inside her dorm now.

He passed her, still muttering, and walked quickly down the corridor. Ginny sighed silently, her head spinning. No way had that just happened. What was with Hogwarts these days? Everything was a mess. Nothing made sense.

Ginny knew that she couldn't go to the door now and ask for her wand, not after what she had just seen, and not after Hermione was inside. She probably wanted to be alone.

As Ginny walked back to Gryffindor tower unsteadily, she couldn't wait until tomorrow to tell Malfoy what she had seen, about what a creep Dolop was. They had to tell someone. He shouldn't be a _teacher_. For crying out loud, he should be in Azkaban!

Ginny lay in bed for a long time that night, thinking and rethinking everything. She decided that the idea of Malfoy and Hermione didn't seem so outrageous or ridiculous or impossible anymore. In fact, she was kind of really rooting for them now.

What a crazy world.

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

The next morning, Ginny could barely think straight. Part of her wondered if what she had witnessed last night was a weird dream, but the smarter part of her told her that it was real. She still couldn't really even comprehend how any of this could have happened. She never knew Hermione could be so mysterious. Ginny remembered the first time Hermione had dressed up. The boys had gone mad over her. Everyone had gawked as she walked down the halls. No one minded her persistence in class anymore.

Apparently Hermione had managed to attract two people that should have never been attracted to her. Ginny just couldn't believe she was on Malfoy's side one hundred percent on something. This was a historical event. She should probably write it down somewhere.

Her morning classes slowly passed by, and she paid not one bit of attention. How could she? There was just so much going on . . .

Once the lunch bell rang, Ginny headed straight for the Head's Dormitory. Malfoy had to know. And know now.

She stood in front of the portrait and knocked five times, hard and quickly. It felt strange to stand here in the daylight. She looked to her left and the horrid, repulsing image of Professor Dolop attacking Hermione was still fresh in her mind. She shook her head and looked up at Malfoy as he opened the door.

"Malfoy!" Ginny said. "I have got to tell you something –!" She paused. "Oh, is Hermione here?" she whispered. He shook his head, so she pushed passed him and stepped inside. Once she did, she suddenly realized that Malfoy was _smiling_. A huge, ridiculously happy smile was stretched across his pale features. Ginny did a double take. She had not seen him actually happy in a while.

She hated to crush that. But she had to do what she had to do.

"Why are you–? Oh never mind," she said. It wouldn't matter why he was happy in a moment, anyway. "Look, Malfoy . . . I finally found out what you wanted me to find out . . ."

He froze. And then his smile slowly disappeared. "You did? How? When?"

"Last night . . . I forgot my wand . . .oh, speaking of . . ." She walked over to the coffee table and snatched it up. "Well, anyway, I forgot it here and halfway to the Gryffindor tower, had to come back . . .but on my way, I saw Hermione . . . with Professor–"

"– Dolop," Malfoy finished her sentence for her, his tone low and dangerous. Ginny nodded.

"You . . .knew? But how? Why didn't you tell anyone? Malfoy, this is so, so bad! What are we going to do?"

"Ginny, calm down . . ." he said, trying to clam himself down. "What did you see, exactly?"

Ginny paused. "I don't think you want –"

"Just say it," he demanded, his eyes glinting metallic with anger. "Just tell me."

"I . . . well . . .he sort of . . . _attacked_ her!" Ginny said, unable to hold it in. "He pushed her into the wall . . . and _kissed_ her . . . and he just kept on and on . . . and then she pushed him away and yelled at him. I think she was crying. What is wrong with him?"

Malfoy took a moment to absorb that. Hermione had pushed him away. And then she had come to him. Well, at least he knew that whatever had been going on with them was over. And she had chosen him over Dolop. That much he could be grateful for.

On the other hand . . . Dolop was a disgusting, evil pig. And he was going to get his . . .

"Malfoy, that face is really scary," Ginny quipped.

He realized the lividness that contorted his features and relaxed a little. "Okay," he said. "Okay, well, it's fine . . . it's over, anyway . . ."

"How do you know? I mean, that was just last night . . ."

And then Ginny suddenly remembered his broad smile.

"Wait," she said, narrowing her eyes. "When Hermione came back . . . did you see her?"

The look on his face told her that yes, yes he sure did.

"Well," he cleared his throat. "Actually, she came to see me."

"_And!?_" she squealed, her eyes bright and wide. "What happened!"

"Er, well," he said awkwardly. He cleared his throat again. "We, er, well. We kissed."

"Malfoy! That's great! So everything's good again?" she asked.

He paused. "Not quite. First, I have to figure out why the hell I confessed to something I didn't do. Next, I still have to make sure that everything will actually work out with me and Hermione. And well, I can't exactly let Dolop off scot-free, can I?" He said that last part as a threat.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa . . . slow down, Malfoy," Ginny warned sternly. "How do you plan on figuring out what happened with the whole confession thing, exactly?"

"Well, I was thinking I'd talk to Professor McGonnagal and Dumbledore. If I tell them the whole story, they'd probably have some suggestions . . ."

"Okay, well . . . what about the other thing? How are you going to make sure that things 'actually work out with you and Hermione'?"

"Well," he said, thoughtful. "I thought about what you said before. I think that it would be better for everyone that . . . well, you and I are now civil to one another, right? So, I was thinking, it might be worth a shot to actually go and speak to Potter and your brother."

It was quiet for a moment.

"You would actually do that?" Ginny asked blankly.

"Of course," he answered immediately, and then at the grin on her face, added, "Well, I mean, to make things easier for everyone, why not?"

"Sure, okay," she said, still grinning. Then she stopped smiling. "And you're going to stay away from Dolop. Dumbledore will deal with that."

"I think he deserves a little more than getting sacked, don't you?" He was glaring again.

"Let's just put it this way, if I had had my wand with me last night, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Ginny said.

"So then why do you have a problem with –?" Malfoy demanded.

"Because, I was angry and shocked beyond my life and I thought he was actually attacking her . . . I was going to jinx him to the next life to keep him away from her. But this is different."

"How."

"Because, now she's with you again. She doesn't want him. Trust me, I saw the look on her face. She looked awful. So upset. And so, _so _mad."

Malfoy hesitated. "I make no promises."

Ginny sighed. She supposed that was the best she would get right now. "Okay, well then . . . where are you going to start with all of this?"

Malfoy thought for a moment. "Well, seeing as how I have no clue how to really start about the whole weird confession thing . . . I guess . . . I'll start with . . . Potter."


	37. Of The Unanticipated

Chapter thirty seven – Of The Unanticipated

Enough time had passed now. Things were falling into place.

Lucius had not seen or heard from his son in weeks, since the last abhorred visit at which he had confirmed his son's alleged affairs with filthy mudblood scum . . .

His blood boiled as he thought of it, and he calmed himself. He unclenched his fist and unwrinkled the parchment in his hand.

_Mr Malfoy_

_My father has most recently contacted me and explained to me the assistance you will be _

_requiring as of next week. I undoubtably accept and insist upon your plan of action. I _

_have been banned from my own graduation because of your son. He no longer enters the_

_Slytherin common rooms – a disgrace. No offense meant, sir, however, he must be _

_reminded of who he is. _

_I will complete the necessary tasks by the time requested. Please do not hesitate to _

_contact my father or myself if any changes in the plan arise. _

_Most anxiously,_

_B. Zabini_

It was the best news he had received since first conversing with the rat of a man, Zabini Sr.. This would surely send a shockwave so powerful to Draco, he would return to normal. Normal – cold, heartless, a real, true wizard and Malfoy man, worthy of the pure blood running through his veins, of the wealth and well-established power he had come from.

That puffy-haired bookworm would no longer harbor any power over his son, a Malfoy. It was but a disgraceful, ugly, black mark on their family's reputation to have this monstrosity hanging over their heads.

No, she would harbor no power, because she would no longer harbor even the air in her lungs.

He smiled maliciously into his goblet, tossing the parchment into the fire.

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O00O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Draco exhaled, nervous. Ridiculous, the notion of seeking out Harry Potter, to converse in a _pleasant_ manner. Absolutely ridiculous. And absolutely necessary.

Harry was seated in the courtyard, alone. Ginny had arranged that. Now all Draco had to do was approach him and . . . ask him to be his friend. Draco closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and growling in frustration. Why, why, why did this have to be a part of the solution?

Draco entered the courtyard, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously as he peered around. He passed some first years who scurried out of his way. Huh. He had forgotten that people were actually afraid of him. How easy it was to forget such things when he was otherwise preoccupied.

Harry was leaning against the tree, having taken a break from the stone bench, Draco assumed. Ginny had said she would meet her boyfriend here at five, and Draco had taken his sweet time getting here. It was nearly half-past. It was just too damn horrifying. All these years of bantering and dueling and seething hatred, to be concluded with a begging apology? An extension of friendship?

Draco rolled his eyes. So much for that thing called_ pride_. He would just have to tuck that away for now, pry it out later when he faced Weasley. He shuddered. Now _that_ would be something. If he made it through this. He swallowed hard, in disbelief that talking amiably with Harry Potter could threaten him so much, whereas dueling him or openly hating him could be done within a snap of his fingers.

As Draco neared the tree in the left part of the courtyard, approaching the only person within that vicinity, people began to look at him. He found it hard to stare straight ahead, at his target. Foolish, they probably thought he was here looking for a well anticipated duel or something.

He sighed.

Harry finally noticed the figure approaching him, and quickened to right his stance to defensive, ready to move to offensive. Draco slowed his pace, dragging his feet.

This was it. The last of Potter vs Malfoy the school would ever see. Sad, in a way, weird in a lot of other ways.

When Draco was but five feet away, Harry spoke.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

Common, expected.

He sighed again. "To talk."

Harry started for a moment. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Draco said slowly, very aware that there were many people staring at them now.

Harry snorted. "Talk? You want to talk to me?" he repeated dubiously. "About what, in particular?"

"I think we both know the answer to that question."

They stood in silence for a minute.

"Last time I checked, Hermione hated you, you didn't talk to her – everything was back to normal. What's there to talk about?"

"Well for one, you lied to Dumbledore," Draco said angrily, unprepared for Harry's direct assault on his biggest weakness.

Not a great start, but better than he had predicted.

Harry faltered, hesitated. Draco had hit a very sensitive target, and was proud. Things needed to be resolved before he could whip out the olive branch.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, unskilled at bold-face lies.

"You told him you found me with Blaise that night. You lied. I want to know why."

Harry thought about denying it, but there was no use. "Because," he spat angrily. "It could have just as easily been you."

Draco balked. Had Potter not realized? Had he not deduced the obvious but shocking truth to it all?

"Potter, you're off your rocker, I'm afraid," Draco assured him. "Hermione's been my life for months now. Since before December. Do you honestly believe she would kiss me had it not been otherwise? Do you honestly question her sanity to that degree?"

Harry, once again at a loss for words, simply narrowed his eyes. "What is this all about? Why are you suddenly here, _"talking"_ to me?"

Draco decided it best to settle with the truth again. "I need to figure out my lapse in sanity – why I admitted to Dumbledore that I had helped Blaise, why I told Hermione no when she asked me . . . that question . . ."

Harry felt as if someone had punched him repeatedly. It was bizarre, insane, wild to witness Draco Malfoy in such a state of weakness, inability. And to know that it was all because of his separation from Hermione . . . all because of Harry . . .

Harry observed the platinum-haired boy for a moment before leaning against the tree again. Draco, recognizing this as a retreat from offense, relaxed his stance as well. The eyes of bystanders were burning a hole into his back.

"How are you standing this?" Draco wondered as a side-note.

"What?" Harry asked, bemused by Draco's discomfort.

Draco peered left and right. "All these people staring?" he hissed.

Harry laughed aloud. "I guess I'm used to an audience when I least want one."

Draco actually cracked a smile. "I suppose you'd have to be."

Harry sighed, looking up at the light filtering in from above, through the leaves, making the dull green a brilliant jade. May was beautiful. This disgusting secret was not.

Harry looked at Draco again. "I can't believe I'm saying this," Harry began. "But I owe you an apology, Malfoy."

Draco balked. He was here to apologize, ask for forgiveness, friendship perhaps, and now Harry was offering an apology?

"For what?"

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Hermione stood in front of the Muggle Studies classroom door, shifting from foot to foot as she contemplated the consequences of what she was about to do. She could hardly believe that the past couple of months had been such a mess – based completely on self-loathing and denial. She had hated herself for falling for Draco, and being burned, _scalded_ and scarred in the end – as if she should have expected less. And again, she had that voice in the back of her mind, constantly telling her that Draco was innocent.

And now, there was Michael. Her biggest mistake yet. She felt hideously evil, and immeasurably guilty about it all – but it still didn't change the fact that it was a mistake. All of it. Especially the most recent part.

She shuddered every time she remembered his hand sliding up her thigh . . . She even felt queasy. The more she stepped back to look at the big picture, the more she saw herself as a student – reckless, stupid, desperate for physical (as much as she would never admit) and emotional affection and broken – and Michael as a Professor – creepy, equally as desperate, unusually and strangely intense.

Hermione didn't understand how she had let her life spiral so out of control from September to May, especially since this year was so vital – both socially and academically. Her plan was strict and stringently planned in advance. She was going to begin hinting to Ron more obviously of her true (well, ex-true) feelings for him, and obtain the best marks yet to send her off on graduation. She was going to have the most perfect, beautiful dress at the ceremony. She had imagined herself as valedictorian many times, and subsequently imagined herself giving the most inspirational speech to her classmates as they departed.

How had things come this far?

Hermione closed her eyes and massaged her temple. She knew exactly how things had come this far, and who they had gone this far with. Draco Malfoy. Perfectly deceptive, perfectly evil, perfectly shaped, perfectly skilled, perfectly talented . . . She sighed and shook her head.

Hermione reached forward and knocked quickly. Her nerves were frayed from over-thinking her words over the course of the day alone in the common room. She muttered to herself quietly as she stood and waited.

When the door opened she held her breath.

Michael's eyes widened and he smiled, sighing in what seemed like relief. Hermione's gut plunged deeper.

"Hermione!" he said. "Come in, come in."

Hermione walked inside the classroom, towards his desk at the front of the room. He followed her, babbling, but she couldn't listen to him. She was too concentrated on her own strangled thoughts.

"– and I just feel so awful of how I left things, I did not intend to offend you at all and I just thought we were both in the same place. I just hope we can overlook this and move past it . . ." he trailed off then. Apparently, he had been attempting to apologize for the monstrosity he had almost committed.

Hermione stopped and turned to face him. She leaned against his desk, crossing her arms awkwardly. She felt herself shaking. "I think we will," she said quietly, looking at the ground.

He smiled.

Hermione sighed, and said, "Because nothing even remotely close to that will ever happen again, Michael. This is wrong, and so, so, so done. I'm sorry. This is really my fault. I just came here to tell you that. I'll just go, and no one will have to know about this."

Her words were mechanical, having memorized them. Michael's face froze with shock, and the sight of it burned into her mind as she attempted to walk by him. But he stopped her by stepping in front of her.

"Hermione, wait," he breathed, seeming strained. "You can't just _leave_. We have to talk about this," he pleaded. Hermione gaped, stunned with both anxiety and confusion.

She backed up and he walked towards her, holding her hand in his.

"Hermione, I already said I'm sorry, and we can take this as slow as you want – I don't care if we never – ever – do . . . that. I'm fine with it. I just want to be with you. Please don't just give up like this. I thought we were in this together?"

Hermione stared, wide-eyed, at him. A million things surged through her mind as he spoke. Firstly, she realized she really hadn't been paying close enough attention to him in the past few weeks. He was far too serious about their _fling_ than he should have been. Secondly, she had never anticipated this desperate, pleading attitude he was pulling. It scared her. Lastly, she could now see that his feelings for her ran far deeper than hers did for him. That scared her more.

"Mi-Michael," she began, pulling her hands away and crossing her arms again. She turned and walked away from him. "I don't think you're understanding me here – we are not a couple. This was a fling – a stupid, illegal, unnecessary fling. We both have fault in it, of course, but you are taking this far too seriously. There's nothing to negociate. This is done." She was shaking worse than ever, more from fear than from nervousness now.

He approached her again. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and kissed her neck. She pulled away instantly, but he did not relent nor release her. He whispered in her ear, "You can't deny that you had fun . . . I know you like it when I do this . . ."

She struggled free, wiping her neck. She glared at him. "Don't touch me," she snarled, standing with her feet shoulder-width apart. Defensive. And he noticed.

"What are you doing? – Hermione, I wouldn't hurt you, don't be ridiculous!" he said, approaching her again. But she maneuvered backward into the line of desks. He rounded the row and she had to backtrack towards his desk again. "Hermione, please stop, this is childish."

"No, you get away from me. You just kissed me without permission. That's assault."

He laughed. "Please, Hermione. This is a fight. Don't be so preposterous."

"No! Michael, this is _not_ a _fight_! This is me telling you that we are not going to carry on this secretive _thing_ any longer!" Hermione was yelling now, hysterical and afraid of his reaction. Her chest heaved as her heart began to race uncontrollably.

"Hermione," he said, one eyebrow raised as he scratched his head. He shoved both hands into his pockets as he sauntered comfortably toward her. "When two people in a relationship disagree, they work it out, they don't just run away. It's courtesy, you see."

"This. Is. Not. A. Relationship," Hermione seethed, speaking through her teeth. "Michael! Please, please listen to me! There's nothing to work out! We would see each other a few nights a week to snog and talk and be stupid and reckless with both our reputations, and you especially with your career! That is _not_ a real relationship – that's a broken law! That's you fired and in Azkaban, and me expelled, unable to work in any honorably place _ever_!"

He balked for a moment. "Hermione, you graduate in a few weeks! It will all be okay soon enough! No one has to know about anything!" he said, smiling as if he had figured out their problem.

Hermione shook her head. "You're not getting it. This is still too wrong. Maybe if we had met under different circumstances, maybe if I was less preoccupied with other things . . . but this is all too wrong. It's done. All of it. Please don't make me spell it out again."

He stared at her again, apparently just receiving the intended message. As it sunk in, Hermione let her heart beat get back to normal. She unclenched her fists from around the edge of the desk She could understand his momentary panicky freak out. She had gone through worse over less.

"NO!"

Hermione jumped inches into the air, hitting the desk so that papers and objects fell to the ground as Michael suddenly roared at her. She stared, recovering from the jump-start on her heart.

He stalked forward, thankfully passed her, but she was too shocked, rooted to the ground. She couldn't move away or move towards the door. She stared at him.

He was facing the wall, one hand on his forehead, the other on his waist. "Hermione!" His voice was still loud and strained. Hysterical. Hermione swallowed. Had no one heard him yelling? She supposed it was close to six now, people would be gathering for dinner soon. Just her luck.

"Wh-what?" she stuttered, wide-eyed and shaking visibly now where she stood.

"Hermione! I love you! Do you not see that? Could you not tell? Did you think I would want to sleep with you had I not had pure intentions?" he ranted. He turned to look at her, his eyes wide and frantically searching hers for some relent. There was none. Only fear.

"Michael – you have to know that – that this is wrong . . . we can't – you cant . . . too many – too many pro-problems," she spluttered, panicking now. He _loved_ her!? This was insanity!

"We can make it work! You and I! We are the smartest people at this school, and we only have to keep it a secret for a few more weeks, and then you will have graduated, and I can quit and we can be together!"

Hermione stared, no idea what to say to that. She decided she might as well settle with the truth. Force him to accept it. "Michael. We probably could. Honestly, it might work if I was willing to lie to everyone just to be with you – except that I don't _want_ to be with you. This is not a relationship to me, as I have explained."

"You can't say you don't love me!" he shouted, staring at her.

Hermione gasped. "Love you? _Love_ you! Michael, for Merlin's sake, you know I'm in love with Draco! You've known and you took advantage of that! You took advantage of the fact that I was hurting and vulnerable, and you tried to take advantage of me! Now stop it! Just stop acting crazy! This is _done_! Over!"

"No!" he refused, turning again. He placed both hands on either side of his head. Hermione was beginning to think there was a bigger problem here than her rejection. She walked towards him quietly, hoping to say a quick and quiet goodbye, and then go to Dumbledore and admit everything. She now realized the full consequences of her actions and was willing to face her firing squad. Michael obviously wasn't okay.

"Michael, I'm so sorry–," Hermione began, but Michael interrupted her.

"No! Stop!" he raged, abruptly turning around. As he did, his hand inadvertently hit Hermione's face. She stumbled to the side and tripped before she landed roughly on the ground. She stared at him, holding the side of her face, terrified now.

He stared down at her, and then looked at his hand. "Hermione!" he said, his voice having returned to normal. "I'm so sorry! It was an accident! Oh, Merlin, are you okay? Let me see–!"

"Don't touch me!" Hermione said quickly, sliding away from him as he knelt to the ground. She was still shaking. She stood awkwardly and backed away from him. She pulled her wand out as she went.

He followed slowly. "Hermione, please don't be so absurd, it was an accident! I hadn't realized you were so close to me! Please put that away!" he begged. "You can't just leave like this. We have to talk about our situation, about us."

Hermione shook her head. "There is no situation. There is no 'us'. Don't follow me. Don't talk to me."

She turned on her heel, tears filling her eyes, and fled towards the door. She pushed it open and it slammed against the wall as she ran down the corridor.


	38. Of Battles Won & Lost

Chapter thirty eight – Of Battles Won & Lost

"So how'd you get rid of Lavender?" Ginny asked Ron. They were leaving Great Hall after dinner. They were some of the last to leave.

Ron scowled at his sister. "Ginny, don't talk about her like she's a rash. She's my girlfriend. And she had to go do a big project for Transfiguration."

Ginny snorted at her brother's analogy. "Oh, okay."

"So what about you and Harry these days, eh?" Ron asked, poking fun. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Everything's fine, of course. Why wouldn't they be?" Ginny said, very non-chalant.

"Just wondering," Ron shrugged. "So where has Hermione been lately? I feel like she hasn't been around for ages. Will I ever see her again?"

Ginny bit her lip. "I think there's just some drama in her life right now. You know Hermione – she's very secretive. She likes to take on the world all alone."

"Drama? What drama?" Ron asked.

"Oh, you know, Malfoy and whatnot . . ." Ginny lied. She had no intention of being the unlucky one to break all the bad news to Ron. He was just too unobservant, she figured the initial shock just might be enough to kill him.

"What do you – hey, what's going on?" Ron broke off mid-question as they rounded the corner and saw crowds of kids running towards the courtyard.

As Dean ran past them, Ron grabbed his robes and yanked him back. "Dean, mate, what the hell is going on?"

"Harry's fighting Malfoy!" he shouted excitedly, and then he struggled free. Ron, wide-eyed, looked at Ginny, who felt like her stomach had twisted several times.

They took off in the direction of the courtyard. They had to push through the crowd, and it seemed to take forever.

"Get out of the way, gits!" Ron shouted, yanking third and fourth years out of his way. Ginny followed closely behind him.

"MOVE!" he roared. Several first years faltered back.

They finally got into the actual yard, and then had to fight to get to the circle, where the fight was apparently taking place. Everyone was shouting and screaming. Someone was taking bets. Ginny's heart was going a million miles per hour as she shoved people out of the way. So much for the extension of friendship and the apology. She guessed he just couldn't help himself.

When Harry and Malfoy were finally in view, both Ginny and Ron were shocked to see that they were actually _fighting_, not dueling. Malfoy swung viciously at Harry, who dodged his punch. Harry held up his hands, moving backward quickly and efficiently.

"What the hell is he doing?" Ron wondered aloud. "FIGHT, HARRY!"

Ginny was also confused at the site. Harry was definitely not one to back down from a fight, especially from Malfoy.

Harry was having a panic attack of his own, wondering what on earth he was to do in this situation. He deserved a punch in the face, but could not take it in front of all of these bystanders without the whole school finding out what a disgusting, horrible friend he was.

"Malfoy! Calm down!" Harry hissed, avoiding another fist. Draco shoved him and he stumbled, but moved in time to get out of the way of his advance.

"Potter, you dirty liar! I'll kill you!" Draco threatened.

"Malfoy I only did it to protect her! I didn't know how serious it was! I thought it was just another of your stupid evil jokes!" Harry promised, as they moved around in a circle.

"You're the joke, Potter!" Draco scoffed. "All this time, pretending to be the innocent little hero!"

Draco swung and made contact this time with Harry's jaw. The crowed screamed in both approval and disapproval. Harry faltered, fell to one knee, but jumped up immediately. They continued their circling.

"How was I supposed to know that you were different?" Harry reasoned hopelessly. "After everything you've done!"

Draco didn't stop moving, but he paused to think for a moment. "You didn't even try to accept it. You're foolishly hot-headed, Potter. Always in a rush to do good – or what you think is good. You're too impulsive. You could have waited, oh, I don't know . . . a couple of days before ruining my entire life!"

Harry paled, and took another blow to the stomach. He still did not fall. He was used to physical pain, and enduring much worse than mere punches.

The crowds of kids were roaring; Dozens of Slytherins were heckling and shouting in gratification; Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were shouting for Harry's retaliation. No one could hear their conversation as they circled.

Draco glared at Harry, while Harry could feel nothing but guilt and panic. Sure, when he _wanted_ to fight, Snape or McGonnagal or Dumbledore came rushing in, but when he needed an out, no teachers were in sight! Just his luck.

Harry tripped and fell backward, and wasn't quick enough to react. Draco was hovering over him a second later, his face but inches from his own. Draco glared at Harry and grabbed a fistful of his robes.

"I hope you're ready for Hermione to know what you've done, because _I_ might not kill you, but her hating you will be just as bad – I know that," he hissed, livid.

And Harry knew that Draco was right.

"What in the world is going on here!" shrieked a very familiar voice. Finally – Harry was beginning to think McGonnagal was losing her touch. "Mister Malfoy, get away from Mister Potter! Both of you, up – now!"

The crowd quickly dispersed, clearly not wanting to be singled out for detention. In the end, only Ron and Ginny lingered in the courtyard while McGonnagal, with her hands on her hips, stood before the two boys. Draco did not let up his glare. Harry kept his eyes on the ground – avoiding everyone's questioning stare. He had nothing to be proud of, nothing to defend. He was completely in the wrong for once. His good intentions had served no purpose.

"_What_ on earth is it about this time?" she squalled impatiently. "Mister Malfoy? Care to clue me in?"

Draco reluctantly removed his glare to look at Professor McGonnagal. He said nothing. Obviously it would take days to explain. He hadn't the patience.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," she muttered. "Potter? What has happened now? I thought you two had let up for the last year, but apparently you must fight childishly until the bitter end!"

Harry hesitated. Should he spill the whole, complicated truth? Or wait until he could speak with Dumbledore? Surely he should admit his crimes to him, get it off his chest – Dumbledore was bound to know he had lied all those months ago anyway . . . he might as well know about what . . .

"_Well?_" McGonnagal demanded. "Oh, very well, we'll take this to –"

"The Headmaster?"

They whipped around to see Dumbledore strolling pleasantly toward them. He did not look angry, but he definitely did not look happy – and when Dumbledore did not look happy, he was upset. Ron and Ginny were still quietly observing from the corner of the courtyard. If Dumbledore had noticed them – which was undoubtable – he did not care that they were there, so they stayed put.

"Oh, Dumbledore, thank goodness – these two were putting on quite the show for just about half the school," McGonnagal said reproachfully. Harry would still not meet anyone's eyes, looking extremely uncomfortable now that Dumbledore was there. He felt as if his Headmaster might expose him in front of everyone. But of course he did not.

"Ah, Minevre, thank you. I will take it from here," Dumbledore said quietly.

McGonnagal looked a little perturbed by the suggestion of her departure.

Dumbledore smiled at her and said, "The matters at hand will be more effectively dealt with the fewer people present. Take Mister and Misses Weasley with you as you go, would you please?"

McGonnagal nodded and left at once, beckoning to Ron and Ginny. "You two – let's go."

And then there were three.

"I see that our last year together will be almost as eventful as every other," Dumbledore observed. "Mister Malfoy, would you like to start?"

Malfoy addressed Dumbledore calmly, respectively, as he had let Malfoy go home that one weekend all those weeks ago, and had seemed to understand Draco's inner turmoil regarding Hermione. Draco had gained a new found respect for his Headmaster, and knew that if anyone could understand this complicated mess, it would be Dumbledore.

"I don't know where to begin," Draco admitted after a moment of contemplation.

"Well, why did you strike Harry?" Dumbledore asked simply.

Draco turned to Harry, glaring again. "Because he ruined my life."

"Ah, well, you can see where I would have trouble with that explanation, Draco," Dumbledore said kindly.

"He lied to you about me, on New Year's. He said that he'd found me with Blaise, _helping_ him – when I'd been with Potter the whole time!"

"But, Draco, you did admit to the crime," Dumbledore said, though his tone suggested no surprise to this accusation. Dumbledore turned to Harry, who was forced to look up and acknowledge him.

"I – I made him admit it," Harry said quietly, ashamed. "I used some of Fred and – er, some of this magic powder I got for Christmas. It makes you say the opposite of what you mean. It makes you lie, sir. I had Dobby make them breakfast, and mix it in for me . . ."

"Ah," said Dumbledore simply.

They all stood in silence for a moment.

"Well, Draco, your record will be cleaned of this charge, rest assured," Dumbledore said briskly – almost as if prepared, Draco thought momentarily –, and then he turned to Harry. "And Harry . . . I am, without doubt, disappointed in your decision to act on your suspicions, even though it rooted from your unveiling loyalty and want to protect your friend. I will be docking Gryffindor one hundred points – I see it unnecessary and unfair to penalize you further . . . because of your previous services to the school and community, and of the fact that you admitted your crime to Draco and myself . . . though, it did take you long enough . . ."

"Thank you sir, sorry sir," Harry said quickly, gratefully.

Dumbledore sighed. "I realize both of you have certain people you are eager to share this information with – but I do ask that you keep it otherwise strictly confidential. The school is quite busy enough with graduation plans. It needs no further reason to act crazy."

Draco, nearly bouncing where he stood, said, "Thank you Professor – but can I go now?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, yes. Oh, but one more thing – after you've finished speaking with Miss Granger, could you please send her to my office? We have a long over-due chat at hand."

"Yes, sir," Draco agreed, and then, confused, darted out of the courtyard.

0O0O0O0O0O0O00O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Hermione's sides ached as she rounded the last corner. She stopped, doubled over and took in a couple ragged breaths. She stood slowly and leaned against the wall, feeling as if she did not know herself any longer. How had it come to _this_?

It was that feeling you get when you've been caught doing something you knew was wrong, or the feeling you got when you've just realized you'd forgotten something dreadfully important. But it had lasted for weeks for Hermione, a constant reminder of who she used to be, and who she was turning into.

She was making a U-turn before it was too late – she liked herself the way she was. Others seemed to like her just fine, even love her . . .

All of a sudden, she heard footsteps behind her – rushing, running.

"Hermione!" a beautifully, horribly familiar voice called her name.

"Draco," she said to herself, not turning to face him, though she could hear him approaching her. She did not want to deal with him at this moment, when she was all out of sorts and heading straight into a crisis of a lifetime.

"I have to talk to you," he said urgently. He walked towards her, slowing. She didn't turn around, or push herself away from the wall. He noticed. "Hermione – what's the matter?"

Hermione sighed and pushed herself away from the wall. She still did not turn around. Instead, she began walking towards their door. "Go away, Draco. Please. I can't deal with this right now."

"But Hermione – I've figured it out! I've found out why I lied to you in Dumbledore's office!"

He was talking in a rush, almost right behind her now. She could tell that he was afraid of her reaction – as if she might stomp off without listening, but he had caught her attention.

She whipped around, wide-eyed. "What did you just say?"

He stared at her, his face falling from excited to horrified. She stared back.

"Draco, what did you just say to me? You found out? What are you talking about? How?"

"Hermione – what happened to your face! Who did that to you!?" Draco stepped closer, pulled Hermione to him and cupped her bruised and swollen cheek softly. "What the hell happened?" he snarled, enraged.

Hermione, realizing suddenly what he was seeing, tried to turn and hide her face – to no avail. "Nothing, I – I'm not sure . . ." she mumbled, unconvincing in the least.

Draco turned her face so her eyes met hers. "What happened."

Hermione's lip trembled. Here, in Draco's arms, she felt like she knew who she was. And she could see the full fledged horror of her decisions in the past few weeks without him. She let her head fall into his chest. He froze as she cried.

"Who did this." His demand was soft, but clearly a demand.

She looked up at him, not knowing what she was going to do about her flippant heart. It felt so comfortable and easy to stand there and cry in his arms. The doubts were far away when he was close. And when he walked away, they bit and scratched at her mind until she was near him again . . . and now he had found out why?

"You said you found out why . . ." she mumbled, trailing off at the look on his face.

"I'm not discussing anything unless it's about that horribly large bruise on the side of your face, Hermione. Who did that to you? What the hell happened?"

Hermione stared into his silver eyes for a moment, and then relocated them to his chest as she spoke quietly. "I didn't think he'd take it so hard . . . it was horrible, scary . . . he was acting insane . . . he didn't mean to–"

"_Dolop_? Dolop had the _nerve_ to lay a hand on you!" Draco shouted. Gently, he backed away from Hermione and began walking in the other direction.

"Draco . .." Hermione pleaded, meekly following him. "Please, don't. I don't think he's well . . ."

"Oh, he'll be a lot worse off once I'm through."

He kept walking.

"How cliche," Hermione rolled her eyes and grinned tiredly.

He turned for a moment, wistfully staring at her.

"It won't take long," he promised. "I'll be right back."

He took off running.

"No! Stop! You'll be expelled!" she called. She hadn't expected him to leave her.

So she stood, watching Draco take off down the hall, unsure of what had just happened. Or what would happen next.

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

"WHERE IS THAT WRETCHED CREATURE, NARCISSA!?" Lucius bellowed at his wife. She stared back with a bored, stone look. She sighed softly.

"Benji," she called.

A loud _crack_ echoed in the room and a sickly looking, dark, leathery-skinned elf with ears that stuck up and large jade green eyes appeared.

"Y-yes my mistress?" he said, or more, squeaked. "You called?"

"Yes, Benji – were you off hiding again?" Narcissa accused, glancing briefly at her husband.

"N-no mis-mistress, Benji was cleaning the kitchen floors," he answered hastily. "What may I do for you?"

Narcissa gestured to Lucius with her long, pale fingers. "My husband has some sort of task for you."

She then rose from her seat and glided out of the room gracefully, as if uninterested in what her husband was up to.

"Yes master?" Benji turned fearfully to Lucius.

"Creature – you have one vital task to complete for me and you most do it with the upmost discreetness possible – understand?" Lucius snarled.

"Y-yes," Benji squeaked.

"You will apparate to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You will apparate directly into the Head Girl and Boy's Common room – understand?"

Benji nodded.

"You're going to pick me up something," Lucius said, smirking to himself.

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O00O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Draco stopped running soon after he began, and settled into a hard, determined walk. He did not want to attract attention to himself by running through the corridors like a madman. His chest heaved as he thought of Hermione swollen cheek, the dark painful color to it. It made his insides burn.

He arrived at the classroom and banged on the door three times. He stood and waited – he could hear someone inside moving toward the door.

When it opened, and Draco could see that Dolop was alone, he stepped inside, grabbing the front of his Professor's robes.

"You dirty little scumbag," Draco snarled, staring directly into Dolop's eyes.

"Mister Malfoy! Unhand me this instant!" Dolop ordered, struggling away. He flattened the front of his robes, starting innocently at Draco. "I will have you expelled if that behavior persists!"

Malfoy stepped forward quickly, swung and made immediate contact with Dolop's jaw. He staggered into a desk, knocking into a neighboring one. He looked up and stared at Draco in disbelief. Draco was unsure of how many times he was going to fight today – but if he could only win one, he was hoping this one was it.

"I'm afraid you've just dug yourself a very deep grave, Mister Malfoy," he said.

"What? You can slap around a _female_ student but can't take a punch like a man!?" Draco hollered, advancing on Dolop.

Dolop stared wide-eyed at Draco. "What?" he gasped.

"You blacked her eye and made her look like she was beat with a bloody bat!"

"I – it was . . ." he trailed off, and then met Draco's eyes and stood straighter. "I have no idea what you're referring to, Mister Malfoy. I think we better take you to the Headmaster's office."

"I think we better take _you_ to the Hospital Wing," Draco threatened, moving closer still. He leapt at Dolop, who defended himself. Draco's punch was interrupted by Dolop's hand. Dolop twisted Draco's arm and then shoved the student away from him.

"Mister Malfoy, let's not do this," he said, chuckling darkly, menacingly. He was taunting him.

Draco stumbled but stood immediately and darted at him again, this time punching him directly in the gut.

"I will kill you!" Draco snarled.

Dolop retaliated and swung at Draco, who blocked it and shoved Dolop into another desk. He jumped back up and swung again, this time hitting Draco in the side of the head. He doubled over, grunting in pain, and then stood straight and fully jumped at Dolop, encasing him in his arms. He punched him several times, receiving equal blows back – with less severity – and they struggled apart after a few minutes.

Draco could feel swelling on his face, but did not care. It afforded him a deep sense of satisfaction to see Dolop's face, bruised and swelling, too, and the lopsided way with which he held himself.

"Give up?" Draco taunted.

"Mister Malfoy, this has gone far enough as it is – you've expelled yourself twelve times over by now – just stop," Dolop said, chest heaving as if he had just run several laps around the castle grounds.

Draco laughed bitterly. "You hit me back – you've gotten yourself fired twelve times over," Draco retorted. "Oh, but I guess you decided you didn't really care about the rules belonging to your position a while back, right? When you kissed a student? When you assaulted her!"

Dolop froze. And then, very suddenly, headed for the door. Draco blinked. He was going to _run_? Run where? To Dumbledore? He was finished – he had no refuge!

"You have nowhere to go! Come back and fight!" Draco shouted, following his Professor.

Dolop made it into the corridor before Draco caught up with him. Draco slammed him into the wall harshly, and Dolop quickly shoved him off, struggling uselessly away.

Dolop punched Draco sqaure in the face and had to back up for his eyes had watered and he could not see. He could feel his nose gushing blood and he tried to wipe some of it off of his face. It dripped down the front of his robes and smeared all over his neck and right cheek. But he paid no mind.

Dolop had run for it again, and Draco tackled him. They both fell, limbs flailing, to the ground. Draco was atop of Dolop, and swung mercilessly at his face. Dolop quickly rolled over Draco. Draco faltered, his vision hindered by the blood exuded from his nose. Dolop began punching him continuously. Draco struggled to defend himself, without sight.

Finally, Dolop let up. He stood quickly and ran a few meters down the hall. He ripped out his wand and just as Draco stood, Dolop pointed his wand at the wall and jumped at it. He disappeared through a passage way. Draco leapt at the opening, but it closed too quickly.

Draco swore loudly and kicked the wall in anger. The coward – running away. Running where? Where was there to go?

Draco wiped some blood from his face as he began walking back to his dorm. Now he had to explain to Hermione what Harry had done. He would worry about Dolop later.

0O0O0O0O0O0OO0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Hermione was laying across the couch in the common room, staring at the dying flames in the fireplace – watching the letters from Michael twist and curl in the flames, next to the necklace he had sent her at Christmas.

Her face hurt, but she hadn't gotten to healing it yet. She could do it later. She would not go to the Hospital Wing. That would raise too many questions. She was sure she could do it herself. If she had to, she would go to Mme. Pomfrey. But she would think up a believable excuse before that came.

She was hurt, and bruised, and aching and felt a sort of raw, hollow feeling where her crush on Michael had been, but she was smiling softly to herself.

It was all over. Michael was done, out of her life.

And Draco had figured it out, somehow, why New Year's had gone so terribly awry. She would listen to this explanation when he got back from confronting Michael. Probably after she heard exactly what he had said to Michael, and if Michael had responded. She sighed and closed her eyes.

However, when she did, a loud, surprising _crack_ echoed in the room and she sat bolt right up. She stared at the elf with the pretty big, bright green eyes before exhaling.

"Oh, you scared me!" Hermione said, placing her hand over her humming heart.

"Sorry, Miss," the elf squeaked. "I've been sent to do a task."

Hermione smiled at the elf and stood. "Sorry, but I've said time and time again that I will have no one but myself cleaning my mess. You can go back to the kitchens now."

The elf shook its head. "Sorry, Miss. Benji's not here to do cleaning. I must retrieve something for my master."

Hermione blinked. "What?" She wasn't asking for what he was searching for, but for a repetition. She did not understand. But the elf took it the other way.

"A Granger," it said innocently. Hermione's eyes popped open and she backed up a step in shock.

"What are you talking about?"

The elf reached forward and snatched Hermione's hand.

A moment later she felt as if she was being squeezed through a tiny tube and she was whisking through darkness black as pitch


	39. Of The Mission

**Okay so basically yeah . . I really dropped the ball on this one. I'm so, so, so , SO sorry for the amount of time it took to update this story. I really actually enjoy writing it, I just got so overwhelmed with school and driving stuff and ah it just got out of hand, clearly.**

**And just wanted to address a couple of things.**

"**Darkness black as pitch" DOES in fact, make sense (pitch: any of various dark, tenacious, and viscous substances for caulking and paving, consisting of the residue of the distillation of coal tar or wood tar. – basically, something dark, or black.. And yeah. It makes sense. Lol. )And about other spelling things that bother anyone, I'm sorry about that. I write this story for fun (and usually one chapter, or maybe two, in one sitting, so sort of rushed), and I'm not super hardcore or gohard over it, though I do love writing. I just want to get the ideas down and well, yeah, you know who I mean whether I type Mcgonnagal or McGonagall or Minvre or Minerva . . . I know it must be annoying but still, it's not the most important aspect of the story for me.**

**But yes, the story is almost at an end . . . I hope you all like the end results, anyway, and thanks to everyone who waited around for the last few chapters! It will be worth it!**

Chapter thirty nine – Of The Mission

Harry sighed as he left Dumbledore's office, standing on the spiral staircase as it spun around and around. He sauntered out into the corridor, wandering in the general direction of the Head's dormitories. He knew he had to face Hermione sooner or later, and it would be better sooner. He had to explain, to really let her know that he hadn't hurt her on purpose . . .

Well, at least it was all taken care of now, anyway. At least Malfoy could be with Hermione, if that's what she wanted . . . He still couldn't put it together. Maybe, if she would still speak to him, she could explain exactly what had happened. Or, he thought, on the other hand, maybe he wouldn't want to know.

And then there was the issue of Malfoy murdering him. Of course, he wouldn't really, not if he really cared for Hermione the way he said he did, anyway. How awkward was graduation going to be now? Malfoy and Hermione, Ginny and himself, Lavender and . . . Ron.

Ron – he didn't know about half of this stuff! Harry felt his insides twist when he thought of Ron's reaction, and all of the explaining that would need to be done . . . Oh, wonderful.

As Harry walked and entered an adjoining corridor, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned.

"_Malfoy_?" he gasped. He froze where he stood.

Malfoy was smeared with blood, looking absolutely livid. His eyes met Harry's and narrowed immediately.

"What are you doing, Potter?" he growled, but at least did not seem up to another brawl. Obviously he was at his limit for the day.

"I – I was going to speak with you and Hermione . . . to explain," Harry said uncomfortably. Malfoy walked passed him, and after a short hesitation, Harry joined his side.

"Well, be my guest – the day's gone all to hell, anyway," Malfoy mumbled, stomping ahead. "What you did Potter was low. I can hardly believe it still."

"Well what would you have me believe?" Harry snapped, then sighed. "Sorry, sorry . . . what the hell happened to you anyway?"

"Got into it with Dolop," Malfoy said matter-of-factly.

Harry stopped in his tracks. "What did you just say? _You fought Professor Dolop_!?"

Draco snorted. "Professor . . . sure," he muttered. "Do you have _any_ idea what you've caused with that little damn powder trick, Potter?"

"You're trying to blame you fighting him on me?" Harry said flatly.

"He hit Hermione," Draco seethed through is teeth.

"WHAT!?" Harry bellowed.

"See? – don't you want to hit him _now_?" Draco asked.

Harry caught up with Draco and grabbed his shoulder to halt him from walking any further. "What the hell do you mean he _hit_ her?"

"He took his hand," Draco said, grabbing Harry's arm and ripping it away from his robes. "And struck her."

He kept walking. "Malfoy! Why the hell would he do that?"

"Because Hermione broke – she . . . told him that she couldn't see him any longer," Malfoy said lowly.

"You are making this up," Harry accused flatly. "_See him_? As in – as in . . . like–"

"Yes, Potter as in exactly what you think," Draco spat angrily. They were approaching the Head's dormitories now. "When you broke us up, it destroyed her, more or less. He took advantage of that. Clearly."

"Dolop – he – Hermione!?" Harry spluttered, his mind whirring. "You're – you can't be – that _can't_ be –!"

"Well it is!" Draco shouted. "Now, look Potter, you should go, because I'd rather talk to Hermione alone, if you wouldn't mind. I've had a rough day."

"I have the right to explain to her why I did it! And to apologize!" Harry was quick to retaliate.

Draco pushed open the door to the dorm, Harry on his heels –

Just in time to see Hermione disappear.

It was surreal – one moment she was standing there, staring wide-eyed at a house elf . . . and the next moment the elf touched her hand and . . . she was gone. _Crack!_ They were both gone.

"HERMIONE!" Draco shouted, sprinting to the place where she had just been standing.

"What the hell is happening around here!?" Harry asked. "What was that? Where did she go?"

Draco sat slowly onto the couch and stared ahead, his eyes not focused on anything in particular.

"Malfoy! Where did she go?" Harry demanded, voice strained as his stomach did flip-flops. It felt unnatural not to be doing something immediately. "I'm going to Dumbledore – how did she apparate inside the castle!?"

Harry was making his way to the door when Draco spoke up. "I know where she is."

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Hermione, dazed, opened her eyes after a few attempts and looked around. She was in a large, spacious room with marble floors and tall pillars. Moldings snaked there way around the ceiling and doorframes. There were three sets of double doors on the north, east, and south walls. On the other was a large, multi-pane window with large dark drapes covering most of it. The furniture was sparse, but elegant in a dark way. There was a fireplace in the corner where the north and east walls adjoined, and a fire was roaring in it.

She had never been here before.

She tried to move, but could not. She was in a soft chintz chair, her wrists bound to each of the chair's arms and her ankles bound to each of the front legs. She frantically looked around at the paintings – all vacant at the moment.

"_Help!_" she cried breathlessly, an angry expression set on her face as she struggled stationarily.

And then a low chuckle came from behind her and she froze to twist her neck around.

Hermione shrieked as a spell hit her squarely in the neck – a stinging, biting feeling.

Lucius Malfoy slowly swaggered his way toward Hermione, playing with his wand as he did.

"My, my, how wonderful of you to join me little mudblood," he said pleasantly, but menacingly all the same.

"What the hell am I doing here!?" Hermione demanded. "What the hell is going on!"

But she thought she could make the obvious connection – she fell in love with Draco, and now she was in his father's living room. It was not hard to connect the dots, as it were. But she needed to buy time, and draw this – whatever this exactly was supposed to be – out as long as possible. There was no way her absence could go by unnoticed for more than a half hour or so. Draco had said he would be right back, and after what had happened with Michael earlier today, she was sure he would be looking for her, or Dumbledore . . . she hoped, anyway.

"Oh, I think you have a pretty good idea," he said, thwarting her hopes quickly.

He rounded the chair like a shark, then stood before her with a corrupted smirk on his pallid, pointed face.

"You've demented my son, it seems . . . deluded him into believing that you two can somehow coexist not only as students but as . . . _lovers_ . . ." he sneered the word, using the tip of his wand to trace from her ear, alone her jaw to the point of her chin.

"Disgusting," he spat, as she jerked her head away. She was shaking with anger.

"I have no idea what you're talking about – I would never let Malfoy touch me with permission," she claimed, her voice vicious. She could see where this was going, and thought it would be worth it to try and spare the only person she had ever been in love with. "You're delusional."

Lucius faltered for a moment, his wand hesitating where it hovered in front of Hermione's face. She stared up at him, glared more, trying to think of nothing but the lie as the truth, in case he was skilled in Occlumency.

"Hmmm." He moved around the chair again, clearly deliberating. "Well, if you're telling the truth, it was clearly a mistake to go to all this trouble . . . However, I don't believe that you are being honest. And, either way, I'd enjoy this – so it makes no difference to me." He grinned devilishly.

Hermione rescinded as he brought his face close to hers. He smelled of dust. His skin seemed chalky, papery, and his hair was a thousand thin, wispy white strands. His breath was pungent as he opened his mouth to speak. Hermione kept her eyes locked on his flat gray ones.

"Mudblood, you've caused me turmoil over the years I could never express fairly through torture . . . but, I have a feeling that you will experience a fair amount knowing that Draco will be the one to find you . . ."

Hermione's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?" she blurted unthinkingly. It was a bad reaction; now he could see that she had been lying before. But she couldn't help herself – Draco was going to find her? What did that mean?

"I've thought it over a few times . . . and, however fun it would be to slice you up and discard the pieces – preserving myself infinitely well – it would not be _enough_. I have decided that, in efforts to render the absolute most affective results desired . . . Draco will have to find you . . . and I think that the best way to find you, would be dead, are you in agreeance?"

Hermione stared up at him, no longer glaring, but gaping. He continued in a pleasant tone, as if he were describing his summer plans with an old friend.

"But, I think the best part will be when he finds your note . . . explaining why he is responsible for you voluntary demise . . ."

"You're horrid!" Hermione shrieked, now thrashing uselessly where she sat, bound to a chair.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair to hold her in place, subsequently sneering in her face. "On the contrary, mudblood, I believe I'm quite ingenious. However, you, are utterly uncouth. Please restrain yourself from acting in such a manner again, or I will have to revert to the foregoing plan."

"You monster!" Hermione shouted in his face anyway. The will to hurt him actually hurt _her_, and she wondered why the heat from her anger did not physically burn him as she thought it could.

"SILENCE MUDBLOOD!" he roared, finally breaking his calm demeanor.

He held her in place again, held out his wand and muttered something mutely. His wand suddenly morphed into a long, sharp dagger, hooked at the end.

"I've warned you . . ." he said, looking absolutely ecstatic.

"Stop!" Hermione cried, emotion fully flooding in to her voice now.

He cut her left arm free and held her wrist, despite her efforts to break loose. He flipped her arm over and brought the blade to her wrist. He then looked her in the eye and smirked.

"Let's see _love _get you out of this one, mudblood."

And then, in one swift movement, he sliced her wrist open and watched the blood pool on the floor with pleasure.

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O00O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Harry and Draco were standing at the kitchen table, Harry leaning onto the table, and Draco collapsed into one of the chairs, his head hung.

"We have to go." Harry said, breaking the ongoing silence.

"I know that." Draco snapped. He turned his head to Harry. "You don't think I know that?"

"Malfoy! We can't keep sitting here – it's been almost twenty damn minutes of just sitting here!"

"I told you, Potter, that's your biggest flaw – rush, rush, rush headlong into danger unknown. We have to _think_ then _act_. It works out much better that way."

"We don't have _time_ for you to lecture me, Malfoy! This is Hermione, here, no thinking required! We go and get her! Now!" Harry shouted, pushing one of the chairs over and heading for the door.

"Potter, get back here," Draco snarled. He stood and followed Harry out into the corridor.

"We are going to get Ron and Ginny – then we go see Dumbledore. He can apparate us to your damn house somehow. And then . . . we go from there," Harry explained as they stomped quickly down the corridor.

"Potter, Dumbledore's not just going to let us–!"

"Wanna bet?" Harry snarled. Draco then realized that Harry had probably had more experience with this type of thing, so he did not say anything more.

They ran to Gryffindor tower and Draco waited outside the portrait while Harry dashed inside.

A moment later he reappeared, dragging Ginny and Ron, who looked freshly detached from a plunger.

"Harry! What the bloody hell is going on, mate? What are you doing? Where are we – Malfoy?" Ron stopped dead in his tracks. "What the hell is going on, Harry?"

"Yes, I'd like to know what's going on, too," Ginny quipped. She looked to Malfoy. "What's happening? Why are you covered in blood!?" Her voice rose at the end as she took in Draco's appearance.

"What? – Oh, right," Malfoy muttered, trying uselessly to wipe the dried blood from his face.

"It's Hermione – Malfoy – Lucius – took her, he's got her – c'mon, we have to go see Dumbledore," Harry said, or tried to.

Ginny's eyes bulged. "What are you talking about? Malfoy? What's happened to Hermione?"

"He took her," Malfoy said darkly. "He knows."

"He knows! How!" Ginny shrieked. Even she could see the horrid repercussions of those two words.

"Does someone want to explain to me what the hell you are all talking about?" Ron said flatly.

For a split moment the three of them glanced at each other. "No," they said in unison – each clearly having their own reasons, and no time whatsoever.

"Let's go already!" Harry demanded.

And they began to run. It wasn't far to Dumbledore's office. Harry remembered the password, and shouted it at the gargoyles the moment he got there. They all ran up the spinning staircase and burst into Dumbledore's office, Harry half-way through his explanation.

But the office was empty.

They all turned to stare at each other in horror – even Ron recognizing that it was bad thing Dumbledore was not there.

"Where is he?" Ginny asked the question they were all thinking. "Where could he be? Should we go look . . . . or should we just . . ." She glanced at his desk, and then the fireplace, biting her lip.

Draco shook his head – a quick, sharp notion. "No. You're not coming. You'll be hurt for sure. This is my house, so I'm going. It's my responsibility. It's my fault." He sounded robotic as he spoke.

"How in hell is this your fault?" Ginny demanded. "We're all going. We all care about Hermione."

Harry spoke up next. "Well, someone has to stay here to go find Dumbledore or anyone to help . . . tell them what happened . . ."

"My house, I'm going," Draco asserted automatically, and no one interjected. Ron looked absolutely dazed by the conversation. But nobody could really blame him, after all.

"I am _not_ staying behind," Ginny said viciously, as all three boys looked at her. Draco sighed in defeat.

"Fine, fine . . . we're running out of time here, Potter," Draco said impatiently.

Somehow, for some obvious, yet intangible reason, they all knew that Harry had to go. It just made sense. So Ron would stay behind.

They all crowded around Dumbledore's desk, each of their hearts beating like a hummingbird's wings. Draco knew how to make a portkey, and did so quickly with a steady hand. They all looked at one another as it sat on the desk, waiting.

"Ron," Harry instructed, to break the silence. "As soon as we're gone, go search for Dumbledore, or McGonnagal. Tell them that Lucius took Hermione, and that we had to go and get her before it was too late."

"Yeah, okay, got it. But why –?" Ron began, but was interrupted.

"And if you see Dolop, bring him to Dumbledore, would you?"

"What are you all talking about?" Ron demanded, exasperated.

Draco shook his head. "No time. Let's go. On the count of three, ready – one, two, three."

Simultaneously, Ginny, Harry and Draco touched the portkey with their hand and were swiftly knocked from their feet, gliding through the air, and then descending quickly and unevenly to unidentifiable grounds.

They all shouted as they swooped through the disorienting colors, and again when they landed on rough, uneven masses of grass and dry dirt. Draco was the first to his feet, heading towards a thin strand of trees straight ahead of them all.

"Wait up!" Ginny called, breathless from the ride. She and Harry took several quick, long strides to catch up with Draco. They snaked through the sparse mass of trees and came into a field. At the other end of the field was a stone wall, maybe about five feet tall, and behind that was a tall, perfectly kept and guarded mansion. The outside of it could have looked almost inviting, if each of them did not know who resided inside of it. It was made of white stone, the windows were all gleaming and the doors were a deep oak that looked black.

They all approached it in silence. Where the stone wall ended, a high, pointed black iron fence began and curled around the entire front of the property. There were exotic-looking trees and other plants crowding the front lawn, which was probably about an acre itself. Ginny gasped when she saw a peacock sauntering across the front and heading toward the back. Draco just shook his head dismissively.

They were coming to a part in the fence which appeared to be a gate. As they came closer, Harry and Ginny noticed a sort of electric-blue glow around the gate.

"What is that?" Ginny wondered aloud.

"My father has taken it upon himself to see that no one who isn't pureblooded can cross through onto our property. Without force."

"Oh," Ginny said. "So just like that – we can walk right in?"

"Well, you're with me, so yeah. It also senses 'Malfoy blood' –" he rolled his eyes, looking embarrassed to be saying this out loud – "so, unless he cut me out of it, that should be it. Otherwise you'd need to know all these secret spells and whatever. Which I know, anyway."

Carefully, Draco opened the gate and stepped through. Nothing happened. He waved Ginny over, snaked his hand around her waist, and pulled her through. Nothing happened. He waved Harry over, grabbed his upper arm with his hand, and pulled him through. He then shut the gate, and took out his wand.

"Wait," he instructed. They waited. "Sometimes it takes a moment for the defensive spells to kick in. I think we're safe though."

He lead them slowly and carefully towards a side-window. Once they got there, he knelt tot he ground and pointed his wand at a few individual of the large, white-colored bricks. Then he began pulled them out of the wall. Harry helped him, quickly realizing that it was a secret way inside the house, and Ginny rolled the bricks aside once one of the boys moved them. It took almost twenty minutes to get six of the bricks out of the wall.

"You made this?" Harry assumed. Draco nodded.

"It's kind of ironic – I made it as an escape route," he admitted. He went in first, Ginny came second, and Harry brought up the rear.

"Potter, fix the hole, would you?" Draco instructed. Harry remembered a spell McGonnagal had showed them earlier this year. He made it appear as if the bricks were there, when they weren't. Easy escape, if they came back out this way.

They crawled for about five minutes, and then Draco pushed what appeared to be a door open, and hopped down. He helped Ginny down, and Harry slid out himself.

They were in an extravagant room. The bed was massive, and everything matched – the dressers, tables, bed all matched, as well as the bedspread, curtains, carpet and color of the walls. It was all Slytherin-themed. It looked bare, empty and very lonely.

"Your room?" Ginny guessed. Draco nodded curtly.

Harry couldn't help but to be in awe. He had lived _underneath_ the Dursley's stairs until he was about twelve years old. And Malfoy had lived in a room the size of the Dursley's house. He shook his head and then moved over to the dresser, where Malfoy and Ginny had congregated.

Malfoy opened several dressers before he found a small box. It was old-looking, wooden and sturdy. He also searched quickly for a metallic key that unlocked it. Ginny looked at him.

"It's always useful to have something muggle in the house. If my father tried to open this with magic, it would catch on fire and that would be that. He would never think to try something as simple and muggle as a key for the lock."

Ginny nodded in approval. Harry was impressed as well.

It contained a black powder, and that was it. Harry and Ginny stared at him.

"What's that for, exactly?" Harry asked, a little anxious.

"The portraits are really nosy, and loud. I had to fight until I was nine to get the one that was in here moved. They're absolutely loyal to my father, because they are all portraits of Slytherin's and Malfoy's and what have you. This will make you invisible to them. It took me forever to make, but it works."

Malfoy took a handful, told Ginny to close her eyes, and doused her with it. For a moment she was covered in black smudges, and then slowly but surely it seemed to sink into her skin and she appeared completely clean. She opened her eyes, blinked twice and examined herself.

"Weird," she muttered. "Am I invisible?"

"Only to the portraits," Malfoy said. "I don't know how to do a complete invisibility charm yet."

Next he did Harry, and then dumped the remaining on himself.

"Alright, so usually I only use a pinch and that lasts me half hour to get out of the house without notice, but I used all I've got here, so we should be covered completely until we're done," Malfoy assured them.

"How will we know when it's wearing off?" Ginny asked apprehensively.

"The powder will start to be visible again," Malfoy stated matter-of-factly.

"Alright, now we have to go and search–" Harry began, as they started for the door, but he was interrupted by a horrifying scream.


	40. Of A Race

Chapter forty – Of A Race

Ron leapt down the spiral staircase, forehead already coated with sweat, and forced his legs to move forward. He just didn't understand what was happening – where the hell was Hermione? Why in the world did _Lucius Malfoy_ kidnap her? _How_? When? And most of all, why was Draco Malfoy seemingly on their side? Why did Harry and Ginny so willingly _trust _the ferret?

His head pounding in rhythm with his feet, he moved swiftly through the empty corridors. Where would Dumbledore be? He _was_ in the courtyard . . . and then why not back to his office? Oh, if only he had Harry's map!

He felt his muscles straining as he ran up three flights of stairs – heading towards McGonnagal's classroom –, skipping every other step as he went. His breath was coming in quick, short rasps but he knew that feeling. It was panic, and he had felt it many a time before now. His mind still whirring, he was shocked when the bell suddenly rang. In the silence of the corridor, it made him halt in surprise.

Students flooded into the hall, each with their own personal destination. Exhausted, Ron was pushed and pulled and shoved every which way. Finally he tripped and fell onto the ground beside a small cove where a statue laughed at him.

"Shove it, you git," Ron grumbled, breathing still ragged.

But when Ron spoke he realized his words wouldn't come out properly. His vision wasn't right, either. The people walking passed him glanced, but said nothing. Ron tried to get to his feet, but flopped over. His heart was beating faster than a hummingbird's wings. What was wrong with him?

"Ron!" shouted a familiar voice. "Are you alright?"

Neville came floundering towards him, bent double and grasped Ron's arms. With surprising ease, he lifted Ron to his feet in one swift movement. He stared at Ron with concern and confusion in his eyes.

"Thanks, Neville," Ron panted. He looked around, tall enough to see over the students' heads, searching for McGonnagal.

"Neville?" a dream-like voice, hovering above them, came next. Luna's long blonde hair was the first thing Ron saw. "Why did you run off so quickly? Did you see a Hornswaggle? I told you they were frightening."

Neville blinked at Luna for a moment, then shook his head. "Oh – no, sorry. I thought Ron was hurt or something – he was on the ground." Neville looked at Ron and added, "Ron, your face is real pale and you don't look all that well, do you want us to take you to Madame Pomfrey?"

"Hm, yes, Neville's right – you look like you've had an invisible Grogswat attack," Luna said seriously.

"Um, maybe, but I think it was a panic attack. Gran said I used to get them," Neville pointed out.

Ron shook his head, frustrated. He was losing so much time. "No, I'm fine. Have you seen McGonnagal?"

"Oh, yes, I've just come from her class," Luna said.

Ron took off, and Neville followed him. Luna traipsed behind them, smiling and waving at the statue that had laughed at Ron.

Ron bounded into McGonnagal's classroom. She was sitting at her desk, and looked up immediately.

"Mr Weasley? What–?" she began, but stopped when Ron ran into a desk and tumbled onto the ground. He righted himself quickly and darted over to her. Neville hovered a few steps from the doorway, still looking concerned for Ron.

"What is the meaning of this?" McGonnagal demanded, standing at once.

"Professor! Hermione – kidnapped . . . Harry, Malfoy . . . gone . . . ," Ron panted.

"Excuse me?" McGonnagal said blankly.

"I need to find Dumbledore!" Ron managed. "Hermione's gone – Lucius Malfoy took her! Malfoy and Harry and Ginny left to try and help–"

"Mr Malfoy and Mr Potter?" McGonnagal repeated dubiously, but her face was grave as she absorbed the information. "Why would Lucius Malfoy do such a thing? What is going on here, Mr Weasley? Are you sure about this?"

"No! I have no idea what's going on – but I know Hermione's in trouble and they've left to try and get her back and I need Dumbledore!"

"Left? Left _the school_?" McGonnagal repeated blankly.

"Yes! Just now!"

McGonnagal rounded her desk and grabbed Ron's arm. "Come now, it appears we haven't a moment to spare."

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Draco darted ahead of Harry and Ginny, flinging the door open with an amalgamation of fury and fear mixing inside him. The amount of rage he felt was nullified only by the ache in his heart – it helped him see clearer what he had to do; not just fight to win, but fight to save Hermione. If he lost, and she was safe, it was still a victory . . . he wondered momentarily if this is how Harry had done it so many times before, the hero thing. Was it really because of love?

He could hear Harry and Ginny close behind him. Draco knew where he was going. The scream had echoed in a way only fitting to come from the main sitting room. The high ceilings and broad space, coupled with the large open foyer that coalesced with it, gave it away immediately as their destination.

He bounded down the stairs, skipping three and four at a time. He slid on the marble floor when he made it to the bottom. He then glued himself to the wall beside the open doorway to the room. Harry and Ginny joined his side. As they caught their breath, Draco signaled for them to wait for him to go first.

Hesitating only in fear that he may be too late, he peeked his head around the corner.

"Malfoy!" screamed Ginny.

Draco flew ten feet back, hit directly in the chest with a powerful spell familiar to him. He hit the hard marble floor and slid another few feet before he hit the wall. He lay motionless, half-conscience, blood exuding profusely from the back of his fractured skull.

In the split-second it took him to realize that he would have to face his father one-on-one in a real duel, he knew that either he was going to die or . . . he was to try and kill his own father.

A million things rushed through his head; his earliest memory of his mother crying while his father shouted, his letter from Hogwarts and how his father had demanded that he uphold the Malfoy name, all of the many lectures of how purebloods were so much better than muggleborns . . . all of these memories made it easier to draw strength. Lucius Malfoy was a creature of evil. He had no right to treat others the way he did . . . there was absolutely nothing but an imaginary rule of blood that made him any different than anyone else.

"Insolent little traitor!" thundered Lucius Malfoy, stalking towards his son.

Draco tried to move, but felt like dead weight; the extent of his injury hadn't registered immediately.

Ginny raised her wand, and Lucius fired a spell at her. Harry swiftly snatched her out of harm's way and they ducked. Harry stood, faced Lucius and fired a spell at him. His wand flew out of his hand, and as he darted for it, Harry hit him with a stunner, knocking him to the ground.

Ginny was already at Draco's side. She mumbled a healing spell she had learned from Hermione and the bleeding subsided, but did not stop fully.

"What did I do wrong?" she asked hopelessly.

Draco grunted, attempting to sit up on his own.

"Hermione," he mouthed noiselessly.

"Idunno, but that's fine I'm sure for now," Harry said quickly. They pulled Draco to his feet and he hobbled beside them, passed Lucius, and into the main sitting room.

Draco was roused from half-conciousness and pushed Ginny and Harry away from him as they entered the room. He gasped in horror at what he saw.

"HERMIONE!" shouted Harry. Ginny covered her face and turned away, face paling.

She was on her side beside a destroyed chintz chair, blood like a lake around her. Her skin was pale white and her eyes were shut.

Draco fell to his knees beside her and put his ear to her chest.

"Oh, thank Merlin," he muttered. She was breathing. It was barely, and the breath was shallow and unsatisfying but it was still a sign of life.

He took his wand and carefully pointed it at Hermione. Arm steady, he began muttering quickly and in a mute voice spells that he had learned while reading his father's text books over the years. All the books forced on him by Snape and his mother and his older female relatives. He had hated reading them, but the information had been burned into his brain. Thankfully.

Slowly but surely, Hermione's skin regained color, and her breathing became more noticeable. And at last, after several minutes of silent tension, her eyes fluttered open and she looked around.

Draco helped her up and Harry came to her other side. They began moving quickly.

"Draco? Harry? Ginny?" she said, dazed. "How did you get here? Where is he? What's happening?"

"Not used to not knowing anything, are you?" Draco teased in a quiet voice. She smiled very faintly.

And as they were climbing the stairs, Ginny leading them, a shot of green blew passed their heads and exploded on the wall. Bricks and dust flew everywhere. Harry heard Ginny gasped and then a _thud_ as she hit the stairs, unconscious. Hermione wobbled where she stood, and leaned against the rail.

Draco turned, wand at the ready, and found himself face to face with his father. Lucius approached him silently, a malignant smile on his face.

"Oh, the prodigal son has returned . . ." he mused, darkly sarcastic.

Harry raised his wand, and before Draco could tell him to stop, Lucius had shot a spell at him. Harry hit the opposite wall, legs locked, unable to move. Hermione watched in terror, knowing Lucius still had her wand.

"I would have had it that she would have been dead when you arrived, but you are a little quicker than I thought," he admitted. "Seems when you want to, you can be successful. So, have you _wanted_ to be a failure all these years, then? Is that what it was, Draco?"

Draco didn't flinch, didn't blink. His father's words could no longer affect him. Especially not now. All that mattered was getting everyone out of here alive. How that would happen, he was not sure.

"Oh, your mother would love to see her only son now," Lucius said, quietly. Draco found his grip on his wand hinder for a moment. Thoughts of his mother always did this to him. Not that he had any desire to please his father, but his mother was somewhat salvagable as far as decent human beings went, and for some reason or another, she did love Lucius. In some twisted way, he was her other half. It would destroy her if he were killed, especially by her own son . . .

"Her only son . . . in _love_ with a filthy mudblood . . .saving blood traitors like the Weasleys . . . working with _Harry Potter_ . . ." He sneered. "This is the biggest disappointment, not to mention disgusting act of treachery I have ever beheld in my family. Draco, what have you become?"

His wand had only lowered a fraction of an inch while listening to his father, but Lucius had watched it carefully. Without warning, he raised his wand.

Hermione, having been useless up until this point, could not do nothing any longer. She saw it coming from a mile away. If she just gave Draco an extra thirty seconds, he would have the upper hand undoubtably. She knew what she had to do.

Draco had saved her enough.

There was New Year's . . . he had saved her from Blaise. There was the way he had admitted his love for her – that had saved her in more ways than any physical act of bravery ever could have. He had saved her in a way that let her know she was worth a person's love, she was worth falling for. And then, he had saved her from Lucius, brought life back to her when she was moments from death . . .

It was her turn to save him.

As Lucius raised his wand, Hermione leapt towards him, having extra momentum from the higher stance on the stairs. She launched herself in the path of the spell. She didn't see it, but she felt it. A horrible sting, like a hot poker straight through her chest. She felt like her lungs had been ripped out. She hit the ground, muscles burning, unable to move. She heard yelling, a vague sound.

Then the darkness, like waves, washed over her and pulled her under the surface.

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It was like nothing she had ever felt before.

There was the physical part, and then there was where her mind went.

She was almost sure she was dead – what other spell would Lucius have cast?

The physical part was horrendous. Like dry ice burning her, it did not relent for as long as she held onto whatever state of awareness she was in. She was fearful that it wasn't even a real awareness. Maybe it was some step towards an afterlife? She did not know, but she could feel that if she let go, the fall would hurt worse than the forgoing. Notwithstanding the pain, she was relieved to still have some level of intellectual capability.

She did not know where she was anymore, if she was on the floor or not. She could not feel her limbs, or any other part of her body, really.

But she knew, wherever Draco was, he and Harry and Ginny were okay.

She had done a good thing. After all those weeks of fighting her feelings, of convincing herself that words were more real than what she felt in her heart, of forcing herself to stay away from Draco by letting Michael hold her in a state of ignorant bliss, she had done a good thing.

Because here, in her state of strange awareness, expiation had never seemed such a beautiful, relieving thing. She had saved Draco, after putting him through such hell, such torture. She knew it must have been torture for him, because in this place, it was also easy to see and realize the truth. She knew he loved her just as much as she loved him. His pain must have been, would have to have been just as excruciating as her own.

She knew he had never hurt her.

He had saved her.

He loved her.

And now, somewhere, he was alive.

But was she?

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"You say there was nothing to do?" Dumbledore muttered.

The ministry official, looking grave, shook his head.

A group of them stood in the Hospital Wing. Dumbledore, looking very calm, but also fairly saddened; McGonnagal, looking highly stressed and confused; Ron, looking absolutely crazy and concerned; Ginny, completely healed of her concussion, sat on the edge of the bed, teary-eyed; Harry sat in the bedside chair, hunched over, still waiting for the healing potions to take their full affect; Madame Pomfrey was busying herself over Hermione, mixing potions, wiping her tear-stained face as she went. And then there were was nameless ministry officials asking Dumbledore questions about the commotion.

"Well, come, let us take this conversation to the privacy of my office. . ." Dumbledore said to the ministry officials.

"Well, know, see here Dumbledore . ." one of the brawny ones said assertively, no doubt exercising his authority to the most severe degree (no one talked to Dumbledore like that). "We would like to speak with one of these children, get a firsthand account, statements and the like . . . you understand, this has been quite a day, and Lucius Malfoy might very well be in St. Mungo's forever – we need to know some of the facts, the story, you see."

"Ah, of course," Dumbledore agreed, as pleasant as ever. "Well, Miss Granger is not yet able to be reached, as you can see. Mister Potter is yet to be fully recovered, too. Miss Weasley, would you be willing to accompany me to my office to release some sort of official statement with these gentlemen?"

"Of course," Ginny said quietly. "I'll go . . . Professor, will Hermione be alright?" She said the last part almost mute.

"That is yet to be seen, I'm afraid," Dumbledore admitted. Ginny's eyes brimmed over with tears again as she headed for the door.

"Well, what about this young man?" a skinner ministry man quipped, jerking his thumb at Draco. "He looks fine enough."

Draco glared at the man, and stood. He met his eyes.

"If you don't mind, I think I'll give my _statement_ later. Besides, I've already told you what happened."

"Well! I think you should –," began the skinny man.

"Ah, Hugh, Mister Malfoy's had quite a night as well, you would agree. Let us leave him be for the time being, yes?" Dumbledore interjected on Draco's behalf.

"Fine, fine," the man named Hugh agreed in a huff. "What about the other red-head?"

"My name is Ron Weasley," Ron snapped.

"Would you be kind enough to lend your patience?" Dumbledore asked of him.

"Yeah, no problem," Ron agreed. He joined Ginny at the door.

Draco sat down and ignored the group as they left. Harry didn't move from his seat. Madame Pomfrey exited to her office. It was just the three of them.

"Well, here we are again," Draco said bitterly.

It took Harry a moment to realize that he was right; it was just like the day after the New Year's fiasco all over again.

"Malfoy," Harry said. "I'm real sorry about how this turned out . . . but . . . you shouldn't feel guilty at all, if you do, don't, I mean . . . he would have killed us all . . . you saved us. You saved me. You saved Ginny. I owe you."

Draco moved his eyes away from Hermione for a moment and met Harry's.

It was in that moment he realized that in some crazy way, this experience had made them . . . well, maybe not friends . . . but . . . it had absolved their passed differences, at least.

"You don't owe me anything," Draco said. "I think I've done enough to you up until this year that has earned you my service . . . I won't say 'let's call it even' because I've done some horrible things, but you absolutely do not owe me anything."

"What I did after New Years–," Harry began.

"Let's not bring that up again, not now," Draco said, effectively ending the conversation.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Harry spoke again.

"She's going to be okay, you know."

Draco's stare hardened as his strength threatened to crack.

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He walked feverishly through the halls. He had a large black bad in one hand, coat slung over his arm and another bag that he had charmed to fit all of his possessions.

He didn't know where he was going, really. He didn't _want_ to leave . . . no, he didn't want to be away from Hermione. But he had to. After brawling with Draco Malfoy, a student, and accidently assaulting Hermione, he would be branded a psychotic professor who beats his students and, if Mister Malfoy really did know all about the rest of the ugly details . . . he would be thrown into Azkaban just as Hermione had suggested if anyone had ever found out.

He would leave. He had too.

He would contact her after graduation . . . she would have no choice but to agree and meet him. She loved him, he knew it. She had too. All that time they spent together? Those smiles? The conversation? There was no way she couldn't. Why wouldn't she?

As he hurried down the corridor and turned the corner, he halted in his steps.

About thirty years away, walking toward him, was Dumbledore and flanking him were three ministry officials, McGOnnagal and the two Weasley children . . . both good friends to Hermione.

He dropped his bags in shock, in panic.

Then quickly picked them, up, turned and began to walk where he had come from.

"Professor Dolop?" McGonnagal called.

He turned just in time to see the Weasley boy – Ron – whispering something to Dumbledore, who in turn stared at him.

"Hm?" Dolop stopped and inclined.

"Where, may I ask, are you rushing off to?" Dumbledore inquired, but not in a pleasant tone. Ron was staring at him curiously, and Ginny was glaring. He was caught.

"I – I have a family emergency. I could not reach you at your office. I sent an owl. I don't know if I'll be back before the term ends . . ." his lie was falling apart at the seams.

The ministry officials were looking awfully impatient. Dolop swallowed.

"Dumbledore, if you wouldn't mind skipping the faculty pleasantries just this once – there's a girl dying in your hospital wing!"

"She's not dying!" Ron snapped. Ginny's eyes welled up.

"What's this?" Dolop inquired.

"Miss Granger's been in a terrible accident," McGonnagal said gravely, speaking carefully. She was observing Dumbledore carefully, who was boring his eyes into Dolop like he held the secret to life.

"She – she has?" he spluttered, eyes popping out of his head.

"Professor, I think it best if you accompany me to my office as well," Dumbledore spoke again finally.

"I – I," he hesitated. But there was nowhere to go from here, nowhere left to run or hide. He had made his bed, and he knew what came next. His shoulders fell in defeat. "Alright."

**Frustrating right? Ya I know I really thought I would end it here. But what I have for the rest of it would just make this chapter dragggg wayy too much, trust me. So one more chapter! I hope you enjoyed this one, anyway. **


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